


Look Back

by Sed



Series: Revelation [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after returning to the Cardassian Union, Damar is faced with addressing the past while trying to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is story #2 in a series. Some things might not make much sense if you haven't read the first one.

“This isn’t me. What am I doing?”  
  
“You’re allowing yourself to be happy,” Ezri said. “Is that really so bad?”  
  
Kira thought about the question. She wanted to say yes, it was bad, but she couldn’t even decide what ‘it’ was. All she knew was that Damar had returned to Cardassia four months ago, and despite all the reasons that should have been the end of it, they were still communicating occasionally. Even somewhat affectionately. The worst part was, she actually _enjoyed it_. She looked forward to hearing from him. The current state of the Cardassian Union made it difficult to speak to one another directly, so he often had encrypted messages sent to her along with other, more official correspondence. In some quiet moments of self-doubt she worried that it was too much like an actual relationship. That bothered her. It was never supposed to be real, never more than a moment in her life that she could move on from and forget, if she so wished.  
  
Only it wasn’t turning out that way at all. “Maybe we should talk about something else,” she said. Ezri, for all her good advice, was unfairly biased in Damar’s favor, anyway. “Have you thought about what to do with that leave you have coming?”  
  
“Actually, I was invited to spend two weeks with Martok’s family.”  
  
“Are you going?”  
  
She shook her head. “I thanked him for the offer, but I don’t know if I want to spend my vacation hunting targ and _honing my skills as a warrior_ ,” Ezri said, affecting a deep voice to mimic the Klingon chancellor.  
  
“I can’t say I blame you.” Kira finished the last of her drink and looked around for the waiter. She finally spotted him down on the first level, sneaking a drink behind the bar. Easy to manage with so few patrons around to worry about. “When did it get so quiet in here?” she asked.  
  
“Ask Quark, the atmosphere’s totally different since he hired those two new waiters. Is it just me, or do they always seem like they’re up to something?”  
  
“This is Quark we’re talking about,” Kira reminded her.  
  
“Good point. But those two… I feel like I’ve seen them on a wanted poster in the security office.”  
  
Kira nodded, and allowed herself a small smile at Quark’s expense. “He really misses Odo.”  
  
“He really does.”  
  
  
  
  
It was still early in the evening when Kira finished her work in Ops and finally made it back to her quarters. She had decided to take some of her many obligations home with her, and the evening ahead promised the excitement of finalizing reports, eating dinner alone, and maybe even taking a shower if there was time. Otherwise it would have to wait until morning.  
  
“Computer, transfer active files from the station commander’s office to my personal quarters. Authorization code Kira, sigma-4-9-4-alpha.”  
  
The computer acknowledged the order and immediately set to work transferring the files, giving her a few minutes to relax. She put her feet up and settled into the corner of the couch with a very long, very satisfying stretch. One of her self-assigned tasks that evening included a line-by-line review of a shipping manifest for a few hundred crates that were currently being held in Cargo Bay 4. They were awaiting pickup by a Cardassian freighter that was scheduled to arrive the following afternoon. The shipment had originally come from Bajor—the combined harvest surplus of several municipal stores that the local government had been persuaded to part with out of generosity. With any luck, it would be followed by a series of similar shipments set to make the same journey, as Bajoran farmers in the northern provinces cleared their fields for the winter. She wondered if she liked the idea of Bajor assisting Cardassia with its food shortage because it brought them one step closer to reconciliation, or because it helped steady Damar’s administration. Either way, the plight of Cardassia wasn’t what needed her attention just then, and neither was the manifest review. She had taken that upon herself to complete because of the security risks involved with sending _anything_ to Cardassia since the end of the war, but it would have to wait until later in the evening, when everything else was finished.  
  
The computer chimed its completion of the file transfer just as the overhead comm chirped for her attention. She looked at the open screen on her table and sighed. “Go ahead.”  
  
It was Ensign Ross, who had proven himself to be surprisingly capable when given a single station to manage, with a specific set of tasks to complete. _“Colonel, there’s a priority-one communiqué for you from Cardassia Prime,”_ he said. _“Audio only.”_  
  
“Put it through to my quarters.”  
  
_“Right away.”_  
  
As soon as the ensign disappeared the comm filled with static, but Kira could still make out Damar’s voice through the crackle of straining filters and subspace noise. _“Can you hear me?”_ he asked. The interference was heavy, but she could still hear the frustration in his voice.  
  
“I can,” she said.  
  
_“Hold on, I—no, that panel. The other one. The_ other _other one!”_ There was a final pop of static that obscured all sound for a few seconds, but then the channel cleared, and Kira could hear everything. Including Damar muttering angrily about incompetent engineers. He took what sounded to her like a steadying breath and asked, _“Are you still there?”_  
  
“I am. Is everything alright?”  
  
_“Yes—and no, but that’s not unusual these days. I apologize for contacting you like this, I know it isn’t exactly…”_ He cleared his throat and the channel went silent. Kira could imagine him looking around the room, trying to organize his thoughts. He'd always had a habit of searching empty spaces for answers. _“I’ll get right to the point: I’ve been speaking with representatives from the Bajoran government, and after a month of planning, we finally managed to arrange an informal conference with the Council of Ministers. Their endorsement is the first step in securing a better trade agreement. As I’m sure you can imagine, that hasn’t been an easy task. The original plan was to go to them, on Bajor. However... there has been some opposition to that.”_  
  
“From?”  
  
_“Both sides, and for several reasons. The purpose of the conference is to discuss the possibility of opening direct trade between Cardassia and Bajor, rather than using your station as a waypoint. Obviously it would save us valuable time. It would also necessitate a reworking of the temporary peace accord. As I understand it, the language of the current document won’t cover the establishment of permanent trade routes through Bajoran space.”_ He didn’t bother to add that it would also mean the end of their casual correspondence. At least for the time being. They both understood that wasn't a priority, no matter how they felt about it personally. _“It’s the first diplomatic mission between Cardassia and Bajor that won’t have been brokered by the Federation,”_ he continued. _“I don’t have to tell you what this would mean for us. Unfortunately, our contribution is another problem. At the moment we aren’t in a position to offer much.”_  
  
Kira could guess who in the Bajoran government was opposed to extending the Cardassians a line of credit, or setting them up to travel freely in Bajoran space. The better question was who _wouldn’t_ be against the idea. But everything she knew of Cardassians said that Damar would have just as much trouble finding support at home. “Tell me, is it the civilian government that doesn’t want to owe Bajor a debt, or the military?” Even scattered and starving, she imagined their pride was well intact.  
  
_“_ Luckily _for me, Central Command and the rest of the military—what remains of it, anyway—all seem happy to do whatever I ask. My influence as a war hero has grown considerably since I returned from the dead. Now I’m not just their champion, I’m practically a legend.”_ Kira could hear the biting sarcasm in his casual reference to the affection that his people heaped on him, and it made her frown. He still didn’t appreciate the value of that admiration. _“It’s the civilian government—who have renamed themselves the Civil Assembly, by the way. Ten publicly elected officials who barely represent a third of the mostly heavily populated regions here on Cardassia, with nothing at all for the other worlds and colonies within the Union. Apparently, it was determined that I am to act as a tiebreaker in any case where the council’s vote on an issue is evenly split.”_  
  
“Well, that can’t happen too—”  
  
_“It happens constantly. They seem evenly divided on every single issue sent before them. When they can stop deliberating long enough to actually vote, that is. I’m not so much a leader as I am a babysitter. The fawning guls at Central Command and the scraps of each of the five remaining orders they’ve claimed for themselves offer no opposition, even when they should. Meanwhile, the Assembly seems determined to find a reason to prolong every single legislative effort I make. I don’t know what those Federation politicians thought I would accomplish in this position, but I’m sure they must be disappointed with the results. I feel as though I’m barely making a dent, let alone fixing anything.”_  
  
The deluge of complaints left Kira momentarily speechless; she hadn’t expected him to unload his frustrations quite so easily. “But there has to be some good in all this,” she suggested, trying to remain positive. “I haven’t heard any bad news coming from Cardassia recently.”  
  
_“That’s because the planetary network has been in nonstop flux for two months. I had to mark this as a priority communiqué just to get past the filters the military put in place to keep the populace from overloading the net. Me. I’m supposed to be the leader of the Cardassian Union, and I’ve been waiting sixteen hours for authorization to contact First Minister Shakaar—not from their end, but_ ours _.”_  
  
“Yet you’re talking to me,” she pointed out.  
  
Damar was quiet for a moment. _“Some things are worth the effort,”_ he said. _“And I have no choice but to go through official channels when it comes to contacting Bajor.”_  
  
“I can always talk to Shakaar for you,” Kira offered. “I’m sure he’s anxious for any opportunity to push this process forward. Knowing him, he’s as frustrated with all the critics as you are.” It was only just beginning to dawn on Kira that Damar and the first minister were very much alike in some ways. Apart from age and experience, both were combat veterans who had fought to liberate their homes, and both seemed to prefer dealing with issues directly, rather than wading through the bureaucratic miasma. She also knew Shakaar well enough to feel certain that he would have a similar interest in fostering real peace, especially if it meant Cardassia owing _them_ a favor. That was, assuming he believed they would ever make good on it.  
  
_“I appreciate the offer,”_ Damar said, _“but I should handle it myself. Or so my advisers keep telling me... Besides, that isn’t the only reason I called. I wanted to speak to you about this myself.”_  
  
Kira waited through the silence, expecting more, but Damar wasn’t talking. “Alright,” she prompted gently.  
  
_“I want to see you,”_ he said almost all at once. There was an awkward pause, and then he continued as if he hadn’t just blurted out the most unromantic declaration ever. _“As I mentioned before, the plan was to meet with the ministers on Bajor, where_ they _were most comfortable. But our Assembly raised an objection. They felt it was better to hold the conference on neutral ground. There were many on Bajor who apparently felt the same way.”_  
  
“Well,” she said, smiling despite herself, “I’m sure Chancellor Martok would be more than accommodating, but are you sure you want to go all that way?”  
  
_“Kira.”_  
  
“I’ll have to check with Starfleet,” she said.  
  
_“It’s a Bajoran station.”_  
  
It really was too easy to lead him where she wanted. “Well, then it’s not exactly neutral ground, is it?”  
  
Damar was quiet, and in the silence Kira began making bets with herself over whether he was angry or amused. After what felt like a good two minutes he said, _“I’ll see to it both parties are informed that I have the station commander’s authorization to hold the conference there.”_  
  
“Hold on—”  
  
_“I’ll see you in three weeks,”_ he continued, and Kira almost thought she could hear a hint of amusement in that promise. _“My assistant will make the necessary preparations.”_  
  
“I wouldn’t count on seeing me. You’ll be so wrapped up with those ministers, you might just forget I’m even on the station. And that’s if Shakaar doesn’t decide that he really does like you after all.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
He could have attributed his nerves to the looming specter of a potentially disastrous political maneuver; a single chance to secure desperately needed supplies for his people from their closest neighbor, who were under no obligation to be so generous. He could have assumed it was narrowly escaping death yet again, and for the third time in only four months. He _wanted_ to blame it on his feelings for Kira, for so many reasons it was a waste of time to enumerate them to himself. Ultimately he could not pinpoint a single source of anxiety that caused him to be so acerbic with the crew of the _Ranat_ , yet he had been snapping at anyone who so much as looked at him since they set out for Deep Space Nine. It was, on the whole, the single most unpleasant journey of his life. And that was saying something, when his travel history included the six days he spent packed into the smallest hold of a Terellian freighter bound for Bajor with forty other Cardassian refugees. Thankfully no one on board with him at that time was in any condition to be very curious about their fellow passengers, but concealing his identity had meant keeping his head wrapped in a piece of cloth that he was certain was never intended to be near anyone’s face. The only positive side effect of smelling like a pile of waste was that it had afforded him a little extra personal space—but not much. He frequently woke from dozing off unexpectedly to find some of the other passengers using parts of him as a pillow.  
  
Still, it was far more comfortable than being surrounded by wide-eyed, worshipful young soldiers who were probably still in training when the majority of their peers were wiped out in battle or slaughtered by the Jem’Hadar in their barracks. Young men and women who had seen far too much death in their lives, and who looked to Damar like he had just stepped out of the pages of history to personally guide them into a glorious new future. And instead all he could do was shout at them to stop blinking so much when they looked at him, and breathe more quietly while they worked.  
  
Maybe it was because of the ship that carried him to his potential disaster. The ship that had been procured for that very purpose, despite the publicized claims that he would be making the journey on the first new vessel produced by the Union in almost a year (which had really just been a nearly completed _Galor-_ class vessel that was left languishing in a shipyard after it was abandoned by the Dominion). That “new” ship had, as it turned out, been selected for the express purpose of being destroyed, as his security correctly predicted that an attempt would be made on his life before they could even leave the system. They had boarded the incomplete _Galor_ and quickly beamed over to the _Ranat_ , concealed amidst the small fleet that would escort them into Bajoran space. Damar had been watching from a window in the captain’s quarters as the nameless _Galor_ suddenly exploded, disabling two nearby ships in the process. As he understood it, there had been a short-lived panic while the neighboring ships scrambled to search the wreckage for survivors, before Damar’s assistant, Kivet Nelara, revealed to them that all was well. That he had been safely aboard the _Ranat_ all along. Apparently, the commanders of the escort fleet were duly impressed by the ingenuity and foresight of his security. Damar was just sorry for the waste of a perfectly good ship.  
  
Yes, the _Ranat_ definitely played a significant role in his discomfort. Not because of the obvious and necessary lie that brought him aboard, but because of its history. Shortly before they left Cardassian space, he had learned that this ship was one of the few salvageable vessels left of those that had been first to break the line during the war, and turn on the Dominion. For their bravery, most of the crew had been killed in the resulting hail of fire from their former allies, and the _Ranat_ was left adrift for thirty-eight hours before the handful of survivors were rescued by a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. The ship then languished in orbit of Cardassia III for several months. It was only recently cleared for use after being repaired by the Alliance reconstruction forces, with the intention of being converted into a cargo escort. Most of the crew quarters had been gutted, and the dividing bulkheads cleared to make room in the event that it became necessary to take over transport duty. As a result, there were few spaces for Damar to escape the awestruck stares of the crew. Only Nelara offered him some reprieve, as she never seemed to have any opinion one way or another, especially when it came to him.  
  
They were in the final leg of the journey to Deep Space Nine when Damar finally gave up on attempting to maintain a presence among the crew—and balance his irrational frustration at the same time. He retreated to his quarters, accompanied by Nelara, who was absorbed in organizing a mountain of conflicting demands on his time. While he sat hunched in a padded chair, she paced the room, picking away at a padd that clicked and beeped rapidly with every slight adjustment she made.  
  
“Do you ever think about what it was like?” he asked her, punctuating a silence that had lasted for nearly two hours.  
  
“Think about what, sir,” Nelara responded dryly. She didn’t seem to know or care what he was talking about, but Damar wasn’t looking for a conversation; he just wanted to think out loud, and he knew that she was undoubtedly aware of that.  
  
“Being on that bridge. Having to make the choice: continue fighting with your _allies_ , who had just massacred two million defenseless civilians, or guarantee the deaths of countless more if you did what you _knew_ would save the rest.” He held up his hands as though he could illustrate the difference between one set of casualties and another with a simple gesture. After a moment he gave up, and let his arms fall back down at his sides. “I certainly don’t envy the previous crew of this ship.”  
  
Nelara was silent. It gave Damar plenty of time to regret ever opening his mouth. He probably sounded like he’d gone mad.  
  
“We’ll be arriving at Deep Space Nine shortly,” she said some time later. With one final adjustment to Damar’s schedule, she set the padd on a nearby table and gave him a courteous nod. “I will see to it that all necessary preparations have been concluded before you are ready to disembark.”  
  
Damar waved her off without looking. Sometimes her detachment was a blessing, and other times it was just one more nuisance.  
  
At least he had something to look forward to; his arrival at the station meant seeing Kira. Though she would undoubtedly be accompanied by whatever security they had procured for him on-site to augment his own, and almost certainly one or two Bajoran politicians. It still afforded him the opportunity to see her for the first time in months, and that alone made the daunting prospect of facing her government and its leader—a man who was also an ex-lover of hers—much easier to bear. Knowing she would be standing on the other side of that airlock was enough for the time being.  
  
  
  
  
“What are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“Why do you always ask that?” Nog complained.  
  
Damar rolled his eyes and followed the Ferengi down the corridor, again. This time they were packed tightly into the center of a security procession that seemed excessive, even when taking into account that he had only recently escaped another assassination attempt. Nelara marched ahead, and his head of security, a graying, older man named Parlan Kren, followed. Kren was a retired gul from the former Eighth Order who had relinquished his command when he was wounded in battle some twenty-odd years before. Talk among the men under his command suggested it had happened in an attack on a labor camp, but Damar could find no records to confirm that. Apparently the damage to Kren’s limbs was so extensive that the doctors had been unable to offer him biosynthetic replacements. Instead he was forced to make do with mechanical prostheses in place of his right arm and leg. They never seemed to have been correctly fitted for him, and so he was left with a pronounced limp that lifted his entire body up at a severe angle every other step. As a result, the entire party walked at the pace he set, which was apparently much slower than the leading group of security would have preferred. There was no sign of complaint from the rear guard, who were mainly Damar’s own men. He assumed that was because they had long since learned that Kren would not move faster for anyone, ever. He did precisely what he wished, when he wished, and nothing short of having the other half of his body blown off would change that.  
  
Damar watched as one of the Starfleet security officers turned around to frown impatiently at the rest of the group. He never turned to check, but he felt certain from the sudden expression of panic on the young man’s face that Kren had made his feelings on the matter very clear.  
  
“Here,” Nog said as they arrived at the exact same door Damar had been shown to on his last visit to the station. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.” The effort it must have taken to sound only mildly frustrated by the obligatory niceties of his assignment was certainly taxing, but Damar felt the boy bore them well.  
  
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have no need to bother you, Lieutenant,” Damar replied pleasantly. He waited for the Ferengi’s suspicion to ease up just a bit before adding, “Especially since I still remember how well you carried out my _last_ request.”  
  
Something about picking on the little Ferengi really brightened his day.  
  
Once his own security had done their sweep of each room, and the first shift had taken their places outside—as well as several other teams stationed at regular intervals along the corridor—Nog and the others departed. Yet again Damar found himself alone in a room with nothing to do. Although he considered himself fortunate that at least this time he had some of his own things, which had been brought aboard the station ahead of him (as well as repeatedly scanned for explosives and harmful substances).  
  
Just as he was about to get himself a cup of tea, to continue what he decided would be part of the unofficial tradition of being trapped in the same set of rooms, the door chimed. “Enter,” he called from where he was standing beside the replicator. A second before the doors opened he realized that there was a good chance his visitor was Kira, who must have been delayed by station business. He smiled and turned around—only to find the first minister of Bajor standing in the doorway, instead.  
  
“First Minister Shakaar. I wasn’t expecting you.”  
  
“I know, given your recent security concerns, I thought it best if I didn’t announce my intentions. I hope that doesn’t bother you, Legate…” He paused, then asked, “Actually, is it still legate? I’m not familiar with Cardassian civilian titles.” Not waiting for an answer, he entered the anteroom. The door hissed shut behind him. Being alone with Shakaar was very different from being separated by light years of space, on the other side of a viewscreen. He had the look of a practiced statesman, but the bearing of a soldier—as well as the height of a Bardakian moose. Even standing in the middle of Damar’s quarters, he seemed to be more at ease than Damar himself felt at that moment.  
  
Recovering quickly from his shock, Damar said, “My position was hastily arranged by the civilian leaders, and there are a few titles I undoubtedly could have claimed for myself, but everyone seems more comfortable addressing me by my former rank. I think it enables Central Command to fool themselves into believing that they still control the government. And the people are determined to think of me as a war hero, anyway. If you like, you can just call me Damar.” Part of him hoped that the invitation to drop formalities would disarm any hostility Shakaar might feel toward him, and draw the minister to his side, where he would be most useful in the coming negotiations. Another part wanted to make him feel so uncomfortable that he might leave. This visit did not feel entirely friendly; in fact, Damar distinctly felt as though he was about to be sized up and fitted for a neat set of impressions that he might never be able to shake.  
  
“Very well, Damar it is. I don’t suppose you know if that thing can make a decent cup of deka tea, do you, Damar?”  
  
Definitely not. “My previous experiences with this replicator would suggest it can’t, but there’s no harm in trying.”  
  
“In that case, I think I’ll have some. Extra hot.”  
  
Damar ordered the deka, then his own red leaf tea, and carried them both over to where Shakaar was standing by the couch. He gestured for the minister to have a seat, before settling himself down in the opposite chair. “So,” he began, doing his best to sound as relaxed as Shakaar. “Knowing why you didn’t inform anyone you were planning to meet with me alone, I’m curious about the purpose of this visit. I hope I’m not being too forward when I say this is slightly unorthodox.” Finding his way around a politician’s vocabulary wasn’t much of a problem, as it had turned out, but he was still in uncharted land beyond that.  
  
Shakaar chuckled into his mug. The steam from his drink curled upward, almost as if it had been intended to give the Bajoran a menacing appearance. “Unorthodox has been the way of my administration since day one. You’ll get used to it.”  
  
“If I have time to.”  
  
The first minister bit back a sip with a disappointed look that had the side effect of baring his teeth. “I heard about that unfortunate business with your ship. But you’re alive, that’s good.”  
  
“It seems I’m remarkably difficult to kill.”  
  
“Not for lack of anyone trying. What is it… two assassination attempts in four months?”  
  
Damar set his cup down and shook his head. “This last one makes three.”  
  
“Well, you’re beating the odds, at least. Nerys tells me you’re a good soldier—and a decent rebel, when push comes to shove. So you must know that for every plot your security uncovers, there are probably half a dozen more being cooked up and set in motion, ready to go at any time.” He mirrored Damar and set his cup down on the arm of the couch. “Speaking of the colonel, she insisted that I should trust you.”  
  
“Did she,” Damar said flatly. He had specifically asked her _not_ to speak to Shakaar on his behalf. Of course she hadn’t listened, and he had no idea why he expected that she would.  
  
Shakaar nodded and hummed an affirmative, then added, “She also told me not to tell you that.”  
  
That was less surprising than discovering she had completely ignored his wishes. “In that case, why are you telling me?”  
  
“Because Nerys likes to play things close to the chest, and sometimes I think it only causes her more trouble than it solves. An unfortunate side effect of not knowing who you can trust.” Shakaar held his cup by the rim and spun it slowly as he stared into its contents. Damar recognized the unconscious gestures of someone trying to make a decision. “However,” he continued after a moment, “she speaks very highly of you. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I was a bit shocked by her endorsement, given your history. Though I’m told that you two spent a great deal of time working together. From what I understand, she was instrumental in helping your… rebellion get off its feet.”  
  
His hesitation on the word _rebellion_ did not go unnoticed. “Invaluable,” Damar corrected.  
  
“She’s a remarkable woman, and a good friend. I’m sure you understand the weight her word carries with me.”  
  
Damar was tired of being circled like prey. “I understand,” he said. “My feelings regarding her counsel are very similar, I think. Which is why I wish to believe her when she says you’re a reasonable man, with a sincere interest in peace.”  
  
The smile that appeared on Shakaar’s face was not what Damar expected. He had intended to catch the minister off guard, but instead his efforts had rebounded, and it left him feeling as though he no longer had any control of the situation. “I’m interested in peace, _Damar_ , if that’s what you’re offering.”  
  
No misdirection or attempt at subtlety. It was clear Shakaar knew when he had someone exactly where he wanted them. In that case, Damar decided, it was only fair to respond in kind. “My first concern is the people of Cardassia,” Damar said. “But I cannot help them without also addressing the problems that have brought them—us—to the brink of destruction. The rotten core of our philosophy, that delivered us willingly into the hands of destroyers, and nearly cost the entire Alpha Quadrant. Kira once told me that I had to embrace change if I wanted to succeed. It took a great deal of loss for me to realize she was right, and even more to accept that the same is true of my people. What I’d like to know of you, First Minister, is whether or not you believe we can do that.”  
  
Shakaar inclined his head and fixed Damar with a curious look. “Does it matter to you what I think?”  
  
“We Cardassians have recently been forced to acknowledge that we don’t know ourselves nearly as well as we had believed. Perhaps it’s time to seek a second opinion.”  
  
“And you, personally?”  
  
That was a question he had asked himself numerous times, and he still wasn’t sure that he had an answer for it. “I’m still working on that.”  
  
His answer seemed to amuse Shakaar, who laughed, and then quickly upended his cup and drank the last of his tea. He set the empty cup down on the low table between the couch and the chair. “You know, I think she was right about you, after all. And please, call me Shakaar. _First Minister_ sounds so stiff.” He stood to leave, and Damar stood with him. Just before reaching the door he stopped and held up a finger, turning around to lean in and whisper, “Maybe—in light of all this cooperation and mutual respect—you could avoid telling Nerys that I gave up her secret.”  
  
If Bajorans thought Cardassians were good at keeping secrets, they had a lot to learn about their neighbors. “I’ll keep it to myself,” Damar assured him.  
  
“Excellent! Well, I suppose we’ll meet again at the conference tomorrow. I’m glad we had this chance to talk privately. It’s been truly enlightening, Damar.”  
  
The door closed behind him, and Damar was left alone once again.  
  
_Enlightening_ certainly was one way to put it.  
  
  
  
  
The next time the door chimed, Damar was certain it would be Kira on the other side.  
  
“Good evening, Damar. You’re looking well.”  
  
“Doctor Bashir.”  
  
Bashir grinned, as if just using his name was some great sign of friendship on Damar’s part. “I hope you’re not busy? I wanted to come by and see how you’ve been doing. Your doctors on Cardassia haven’t exactly been keen to share information with me. I haven’t received an update on your progress since… Well,” he cocked his head to the side, “I’ve never received an update, actually.”  
  
“I’ll see to it that they keep you informed from now on. If that’s all—”  
  
“Ah, well, I certainly appreciate that. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind letting me do a few quick scans?” Bashir produced a tricorder that he had apparently been carrying with him, clipped to his waistband. “Just a routine checkup. Nothing invasive.”  
  
“Nothing invasive,” Damar repeated.  
  
“You have my word. Unless you’d rather come down to the Infirmary? I would really like to get a few samples. To check tissue health and cellular growth rates around the site of your wound, of course.”  
  
Damar unconsciously lifted a hand and covered his abdomen. It had been weeks since he’d last thought of the injury he received at the hands of Moren Kael, his former employer and host on Bajor. Or the subsequent poisoning that he suffered at some point during his first hours in the hospital, which forced them to call upon Bashir’s assistance in saving his life. He had no real lingering side effects, apart from the ever-present threat of his strength failing him if he overexerted himself, and an aversion to sharp gardening implements. Other than that, he was the very picture of health. “I think I’ll pass,” he said in what he hoped was an apologetic tone. “But thank you for your concern.”  
  
Before he could be hustled back out into the corridor, Bashir said, “If you have time, do you think we might schedule a lunch meeting at some point before you return to Cardassia? I’ve been writing an article for the _Starfleet Medical Journal_ about my experience treating you. It’s quite fascinating so far, I think you’d really enjoy reading about how the poison was shutting down your vital organs through a cycle of hyp—”  
  
“Doctor, I’d like to prepare for the conference tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”  
  
Bashir blinked, seeming to recall that Damar was not on the station just to satisfy his scientific curiosity. “Of course. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Do consider my invitation to lunch, though. I’d like to have your perspective for the _Journal_.”  
  
Damar nodded and gestured out into the corridor. “Thank you for visiting.”  
  
Alone again, finally, Damar was grateful that he had no other “acquaintances” on the station that might decide to drop by uninvited.  
  
  
  
  
“Damar! It’s been too long. I haven’t seen you since you were here with, uh… Well, that’s not important. What’s important is that we finally have a chance to talk, one-on-one.”  
  
“Quark?!” Damar leaned past the Ferengi, out into the hallway. The closest security officer only tilted his head apologetically.  
  
Quark sidled past Damar and quickly inserted himself as far into the main room as he could manage without actually becoming part of the outer bulkhead. No doubt intentionally maximizing the distance necessary to forcibly remove him from the premises. “You know, I still have a bottle of that ‘27 kanar you liked so much,” he said conspiratorially. “Just didn’t feel right to sell it after I’d heard about your tragic sacrifice. I always knew you were different. You had the makings of greatness, that’s what I told Odo, but did he believe me? Of course not, Odo wouldn’t believe me if I told him space was cold. And then that terrible business on Cardassia Prime, what a _loss_ for the Alpha Quadrant. But now you’re back! And I can’t think of a better way to open up a friendly dialogue about arranging trade between the Ferengi Alliance and Cardassia—brokered through me, with due consideration for my usual, _modest_ finder’s fee, of course—than over a bottle of your favorite—”  
  
“QUARK.” Damar was forced to shout over him just to stop his endless wheedling. “Cardassia already _has_ an arrangement with Ferenginar.”  
  
A sort of befuddled disbelief settled over Quark, and it would have been amusing, had Damar not been so annoyed by the intrusion and the sudden barrage of nonsense. He was tempted to grab Quark by one of his enormous ears and toss him back out into the hall. Fortunately for the avaricious little worm, his brother was Grand Nagus. It was one thing to harmlessly pick on Nog; for some strange reason Rom seemed unreasonably concerned about the wellbeing of his brother, who probably couldn’t care less in the reverse. Cardassia desperately needed the construction materials and capital being supplied by the Ferengi, and a little momentary satisfaction, no matter how rewarding, was not worth turning an uncertain but still rather _generous_ ally into an enemy.  
  
“They do?” Quark asked.  
  
“Yes. It was settled last month. Your brother came to Cardassia Prime himself to finalize the agreement.”  
  
“He did?”  
  
Damar smiled. Seeing Quark’s dreams of wealth fade right before his eyes was almost as good as throwing him out. Almost. “Looks like you’re out of the loop.”  
  
Quark snapped out of his confusion and straightened up. Clearly he had forgotten what a great, inspiring, _important_ man he felt Damar supposedly was. “It seems I am. Rest assured, I’ll be doing something about that. In the meantime, I’m going to go back to my bar and announce a sale on that ‘27—half price. Well, twenty percent off. Five.” He marched past Damar, head held high. Mid-step he paused and added, “Unless you’re still interested?”  
  
“I don’t drink anymore,” Damar said.  
  
Quark made a disgusted face and shook his head. “What is _happening_ to everyone these days?”  
  
Watching him stomp indignantly out into the corridor, Damar could only imagine how he would react when he spoke to his brother and found out that the materials coming from the Ferengi were being supplied _free of charge_.  
  
  
  
  
The constant, unsolicited company did an excellent job of worsening Damar’s already dark mood. He was anxious about the conference, confused and agitated by Shakaar’s visit, annoyed at Bashir and his insistence on reminding him of all the unpleasant details surrounding his injury, and still tempted to find Quark and toss him over the Promenade railing. All of that together resulted in a level of stress that had him pacing the anteroom of his quarters, thinking up every possible worst-case scenario he could imagine. What really bothered him was that his fears of the Council of Ministers deciding against his proposal wouldn’t actually turn out to be the worst he could expect, but the best he could hope for. That perhaps even if they did refuse his request, they might still deign to send Cardassia the scraps of their harvests as the planting season came to a close. That handouts were the bare minimum he could come away with and still feel as though he had accomplished something.  
  
He wanted to be bothered by the thought of seeking charity from a room full of Bajorans, but he _couldn’t_. He couldn’t blame anyone for being suspicious of his intentions, or wary of the long-term results. Plotting reforms with Bashir had been so much easier when they were only speaking hypothetically. Now he was mired in the reality, and the thought of trying to improve life for orphans and undesirables seemed laughably idealistic when he could barely keep his population fed. So far, all he had managed of his sweeping social reforms was taking on an assistant with no familial ties and no name to speak of. Hardly the political scandal it would have once been when no one knew who anyone was related to anymore.  
  
When the door chimed for the fourth time that evening, Damar had worked himself into such a foul temper that he was ready to throw the leftover teacups on the table at whoever came through the door. It was fortunate that he didn’t, because his final visitor turned out to be Kira.  
  
“You look… angry,” she observed with her usual candor.  
  
The door closed, giving them some privacy from the prying eyes and ears outside. Damar stood and made his way over to her, but he didn’t attempt to reach out. She was standing so straight, and her presence seemed so formal, for a moment he wondered if something wasn’t wrong. “Colonel,” he greeted carefully.  
  
“ _Legate_. I suppose I should officially welcome you to the station, since we're being so formal,” she said. “And yes, I realize you probably would have preferred if I’d done that at the airlock,” she added when Damar gave her a weary look. “I was busy.”  
  
“Busy.”  
  
“I have a station to run.”  
  
He stepped closer, but still made no move to touch her. She was near enough that he could feel some of that enticing, endless heat she seemed to radiate. Keeping his hands to himself was proving more difficult than he thought it would be. “Well, I’ve managed to see to my duties _and_ still make time for pleasantries,” he said. “In fact, I’ve even had a few unscheduled meetings today.”  
  
“Is that right? Must be nice to be so popular.”  
  
“It isn’t. How much time do you have?”  
  
Kira shook her head and placed a hand on the front of his jacket. Her fingertips traced the red panels that came to a point at his high collar, forming two wide triangles against the patterned black fabric. He wondered if she appreciated the exact shade of red he had requested of his tailor. Probably not, as he couldn’t recall a time she had ever struck him as particularly sentimental. “Not enough,” she said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but some brilliant Cardassian politician insisted on having an interplanetary trade conference here. We’re very busy in Ops.” She leaned in and placed her head on his chest, and Damar finally gave in; he wrapped his arms around her small shoulders and held her close. “I’ll come by for dinner. Tomorrow, after the conference,” she said. The mock-formality was gone, and in its place was the quiet, unguarded side of her. The one Damar had only seen before in brief glimpses.  
  
He nodded, silently accepting her offer.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’ve heard many of these same promises from Cardassians before. Friendship, cooperation, _peace_. Do you know what they brought us instead?”  
  
The Occupation. Decades of very legitimate reasons not to give a damn what happened to the Cardassian people now. Damar nodded and said, “I understand your concerns, but I assure you—”  
  
“Your assurances mean very little, _Legate_ ,” one of the younger council members reminded him. As if that was necessary, when they were all speaking so plainly already. They had been circling the same issue for nearly two hours, and Damar felt as if he was watching a meeting of the Civil Assembly back on his own homeworld. Only he wasn’t watching, he was in the thick of it. It was _Shakaar_ who was watching, lounging in a chair off to the side. Removed from the rest of the council as they hounded Damar over a past he could never undo. The first minister seemed rather amused by the proceedings, though he had managed to keep his expression neutral for the most part. He showed no sign of support for either side of the quarrel—and that’s what it was, ultimately, there was no trade conference taking place—and never attempted to correct the ministers, even when they made blatantly inflammatory statements. Damar was doing his best to remain diplomatic, but they seemed determined to needle him until he exploded, and the one person he thought might have offered him some support was keeping silent.  
  
He had looked to Shakaar repeatedly during the first hour, only to find the man engaged in an intense study of something on the wall, or his own fingernails. It only took a few times before Damar figured out that he was being left to defend himself—sink or swim, as the Humans were so fond of saying. He still hadn’t decided if it was a display of Shakaar’s belief in his ability to impress the council, or a cruel joke that had simply gone over his head.  
  
Nelara was of similarly little use. She was sitting to Damar’s immediate left, with her hands folded in her lap and an expression of blank passivity permanently etched into her features. He may as well have had a hologram projected there. Of course, he wasn’t sure just what it was he expected her to do, apart from handing him the appropriate data padd now and then. She had brought him a glass of water at one point, which did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves or ease the tightness in his throat. In fact, it only seemed to make things worse.  
  
He made another attempt to ease their concerns. “I don’t expect you to give me the benefit of the doubt—”  
  
“On the contrary, it seems that’s _exactly_ what you expect of us. You want the Bajoran people to give even more, when they have shown a great deal of generosity to the remaining Cardassian population already. You expect us to take  _more_ food from our own mouths, just to make your job a little easier?”  
  
That had clearly been intended to provoke a reaction, but Damar refused to give them the excuse they needed to walk out. He would not be the one to reinforce their suspicions, as valid as he may have personally felt they were, under the circumstances. His job was to convince them of his sincerity and goodwill.  
  
Someone else spoke up from the far end of the table. “What of the Ferengi? As we understand it, Grand Nagus Rom has extended the Cardassian Union an unprecedented line of credit. Can’t you lean on their beneficence for the goods you require?”  
  
Damar shifted in his chair and cast another plaintive glance at Shakaar. It was ignored, just as all the others had been. “The Ferengi are supplying the Union with reconstruction materials,” Damar said, turning back to the ministers. “Supplies to rebuild our crippled infrastructure. Forgive me for being so blunt, councilwoman, but I cannot feed my people with self-sealing stem bolts.”  
  
“We are already sending Cardassia our harvest excesses from multiple provinces.”  
  
“And words cannot express how grateful we are for that,” he reassured the group, “but harvest excesses simply aren’t enough. We need _dedicated shipments_ , sent along direct trade routes, without the delay of a third party to oversee the exchange.”  
  
“For nothing.”  
  
“For the guarantee of repayment,” Damar quickly corrected. “In whatever form Bajor feels it could benefit from most.” A broad promise, but one that he hoped would pique their interest.  
  
The table was silent, and the council members seemed to be conferring silently with one another, glancing about, nodding, and sharing numerous meaningful looks. Damar was willing to wager that every single one of them recalled in perfect clarity the first treaty the Bajorans had signed with the Cardassians, possibly even in this very same room. In the end it amounted to little more than one side holding a knife behind its back while the other shielded itself with the Federation’s banner. No true peace was achieved, and Central Command never actually made good on the comforting lie it had sold to the Bajorans. Less than a tenth of the promised reparations were paid before the Detapa Council seized control and nullified all prior arrangements made with foreign powers. No formal apology for the Occupation was ever issued, either.  
  
He idly wondered if anyone on Bajor truly believed that their non-aggression pact with the Dominion would have kept the Cardassian hounds at bay, or if they had any idea just how eager the Union was to sink its teeth back into the fertile world it had only abandoned in protest. Dukat certainly had every intention of seeing the Bajorans crushed beneath his boot. He might have achieved it, too, if the struggle for control of the wormhole had gone in his favor.  
  
Damar remembered his part in nearly assuring the Dominion’s victory over the Alpha Quadrant, and it caused him to cringe unconsciously.  
  
“Legate, are you alright?” Nelara whispered.  
  
He waved away her concerns. “I’m fine.” He was only reliving his own shameful history, nothing unusual.  
  
The council finally seemed to reach some sort of accord through their silent deliberations. One man spoke up from the middle of the assembly and said, “You claim that Cardassia will repay Bajor, in whatever way is deemed most beneficial by us.”  
  
“I give you my word,” Damar assured him. Not that he expected it would count for much now, when it had apparently meant nothing five minutes earlier.  
  
“What of you, personally?” the man continued.  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Do you not feel it is right that Cardassia should owe Bajor more than simple goods, services, or even a share of whatever wealth it may one day accumulate?”  
  
The councilman was obviously driving at something, but it was lost on Damar. Was he asking for territorial concessions? A withdrawal of the Cardassian workers on Bajor? What could he personally offer them that couldn’t be included in the agreed upon repayment? “I don’t understand—”  
  
“There remains the matter of the Occupation, Legate Damar. You would ask us to extend our generosity even further, when you and your people have yet to account for the immense debt already owed to Bajor. Decades of accumulated charges, which you have made no mention of repaying. Reparations are clearly owed, and I’m afraid that unlike the Ferengi, we simply cannot extend you the same credit _again_.”  
  
Repaying Bajor based on the terms of the original treaty was out of the question. It was simply impossible with the Cardassian Union in its current state, and certainly not a debt Damar could ever personally guarantee. They knew that, so what could they possibly hope to accomplish by bringing it up, apart from sabotaging the conference outright? In desperation he looked to Shakaar once more, finding that for the first time the Bajoran was actually looking his way. The chain of Shakaar’s earring swayed forward slightly, and Damar wondered if he had nodded, or if it was only his mind playing tricks on him. Was the first minister trying to tell him something?  
  
The older councilman bowed his head. “If that is all, Legate…”  
  
“No,” Damar said quickly. He reached out a hand to stop the council members who were already rising from their seats. “I’ll accept the debt, and see that it's paid.”  
  
The same man who had raised the original objection spoke up again. “You _personally_ concede the fault of the Cardassian Union in the Occupation of Bajor, and that redress is still owed to the Bajoran people?”  
  
Damar hesitated, but only for a second. “I do.”  
  
Something changed in the council then; a subtle shift in their body language as they each resumed their places around the table. For the first time in three hours, Damar actually felt hopeful about his chances of walking away from the conference with some measure of success. If they didn’t ask for a monetary repayment right away, he was almost certain that accommodations could be made somehow.  
  
“In that case, regarding the incurred debt of the Occupation, for which Cardassia could never truly hope to pay, we ask but one thing now. A task you must see to and carry out personally,” the councilman said. Heads bobbed in agreement around him. Damar prepared himself for the inevitable. Perhaps the surrender of something that would come at a great personal cost to Cardassia, or him. Whatever it was, he steeled himself to accept it gracefully.  
  
“You must seek the forgiveness of the Prophets.”  
  
The floor of the conference room could have given way beneath him, but Damar would have remained in his seat, staring numbly at the collection of faces gathered around him. They were watching, waiting for his reaction. It occurred to him that he had done nothing for several seconds. Staring wasn’t any better than refusing.  
  
“I…”  
  
He had been there when the _Defiant_ entered the wormhole, prepared to face the Dominion fleet coming through from the other side. He had seen the little warship emerge alone, and then watched in horror as the aperture closed again. The beings that inhabited the anomaly, the ones worshiped by the Bajorans, were not his gods. But they were powerful. And they clearly favored the Bajoran people. Would they expect him to fly a ship into the wormhole? How was he meant to ask incorporeal beings that existed in a realm he couldn’t physically reach what they thought of the Occupation, and whether or not they felt he was personally worth forgiving for the combined atrocities of some fifty years?  
  
“A symbolic gesture, of course. One that would go a long way toward easing the concerns of the Bajoran people, and this council. _If_ the Prophets accept your show of remorse, and you are granted atonement, then we may begin to consider your trade proposal in earnest.”  
  
It was madness. “Of course, but how—”  
  
“The Vedek Assembly can provide you with further instruction on this matter.”  
  
They had planned this. Damar reeled in his chair, trying with all his might to keep his composure as the truth of the matter settled over him; the council members, one by one, had walked him into a trap. It wouldn’t have surprised him if the first minister had been part of it, too. He couldn’t even find Shakaar’s face in the sudden sea of brightly colored Bajorans standing around him, congratulating one another, nodding at him as they passed.  
  
“But—”  
  
A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and Damar’s whole body shifted in the chair from the force of it. “Excellent work, I knew you could do it,” he heard Shakaar say.  
  
_Knew he could do it?_ This was a victory? “I don’t understand.”  
  
The last of the council members filed out of the room, followed by Nelara, who took her place beside Kren out in the hallway as the doors closed again. It left Damar alone with his Bajoran counterpart, who he was almost certain had just sold him to his gods for slaughter. “History will look back on today and see it as the turning point in relations between Bajor and Cardassia,” Shakaar said triumphantly.  
  
That was good news for history, Damar supposed. He still wasn’t quite sure exactly what it meant for _him_ , though.

  
  
  
*  
  
  
  


“Good evening, Colonel.”  
  
Kira greeted Damar’s head of security with a nod and something of a forced smile. She didn’t dislike the man—actually, he was by far one of the _friendliest_ Cardassians she’d ever met—but she kept hearing things about him. Everyone else seemed to find him terrifying or completely disagreeable. It made her wonder exactly what she had done to earn his affection. She wondered if it was some attempt at disarming her, which could prove to be a problem. “Kren,” she said, both acknowledging him and confirming his name.  
  
“That’s right. I’m pleased you remembered, Colonel. But don’t let me keep you.” He turned and tapped the door chime for her.  
  
_“What?”_ Damar snapped over the comm.  
  
“Colonel Kira is here,” Kren announced. “For dinner.”  
  
Kira had a feeling that last part was meant to be a reminder. It wouldn’t surprise her if Damar had forgotten their plans. From what she had heard of the conference, the ministers hadn't exactly been gentle.  
  
_“Oh—of course.”_ He had definitely forgotten.  
  
“If you don’t mind,” Kren said, gesturing for her to follow his lead. The door opened and Kira followed him inside.  
  
Damar was sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. There were two cups on the table, and his jacket had been discarded and draped over a chair. He was barefoot, and his boots were clear across the room, as if he’d thrown them. “I’ll see to it you aren’t disturbed for the rest of the evening,” Kren added, before stepping back out into the hallway.  
  
“Rough day?” Kira asked once they were alone.  
  
Damar shrugged and leaned back against the couch. His shirt wrinkled as he slumped down and let out a small sigh. “I’m sure you’ve heard enough to give you some idea,” he muttered sullenly.  
  
“A little. I thought you could fill me in on the rest over dinner.”  She looked down at her dark green dress; it wasn’t exactly formal, but it was casual enough for dinner with an ‘old friend’—at least that was what she hoped anyone who looked at her would think. They hadn’t discussed keeping their situation a secret, but it seemed implicitly understood nevertheless. Now she felt a little foolish, given that he wasn’t even wearing shoes. “Unless you’ve already eaten,” she added.  
  
Damar shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he said. “But if you’d like something…”  
  
“Well—”  
  
“Just don’t ask for tea, please.”  
  
“Alright. How about we skip all of that and just talk?” She stepped away from the door and joined him on the couch. The simple act of sitting beside him felt alarmingly domestic for a moment, but she brushed that unease aside and asked, “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Everything,” he muttered.  
  
Kira turned toward him, drawing her legs up onto the seat and leaning against the back of the couch so that she could actually look at him while they spoke, even if he wasn’t ready to stop staring at his own hands. “Start with the conference, then,” she said.  
  
“Well, in addition to insisting that Cardassia can’t be trusted—something I don’t entirely disagree with, given our past—the Council of Ministers has asked me… has _insisted_ that I seek the forgiveness of the Prophets. Whatever that means.”  
  
That wasn’t at all what she had expected him to say. “Really? Why?”  
  
“Because I am an idiot, that’s why. And because they knew I'd be desperate enough to agree, which I did. At least I think I did.” He let his head fall back and frowned up at the ceiling. “It’s symbolic, apparently. A gesture meant to show my good intentions and respect for the Bajoran people.”  
  
It did make sense to her, but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to appreciate hearing that. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to tiptoe around anything. “I think it’s a good idea,” she said, prepared for the backlash.  
  
As predicted, Damar shot up and whipped around to stare incredulously. “You what?”  
  
“I think it’s a good idea,” she repeated. “Like you said, it’s symbolic. I doubt they expect you to convert—what are you so worried about?”  
  
“Worried about? I’m worried about personally discovering the fate of the Dominion fleet that tried to come through the wormhole. I’m worried your Prophets may decide that they have a grudge against everyone who resembles Dukat.” She noticed him flinch immediately after saying Dukat’s name, and it made her wonder if he was trying to avoid the topic for her sake. He lowered his voice and continued. “I’m worried that they will decide to accept my ‘symbolic’ apology, and then exact the price from me for the rest of eternity.”  
  
“You’re being melodramatic. And a little offensive—the Prophets aren’t interested in revenge.”  
  
“Can you be sure of that? Were they ever nearly destroyed by one of your people?”  
  
Kira cocked her head to the side and said, “Well, actually…”  
  
“What if they don’t respond? What do I do then?” He left the couch and began pacing the room. “The Council of Ministers isn’t going to just let it go. Why should they?”  
  
“I suppose you could always just make something up,” she suggested.  
  
“Could you try to take this seriously?”  
  
“I am! You’re worrying over nothing, Damar. All you’re doing is talking yourself out of this before you’ve even given it a chance.” A habit she was intimately familiar with, herself. Ignoring her own hypocrisy she added, “You may be right, and the Prophets won’t even acknowledge you exist. If that happens, you go back to the council, or the Vedek Assembly, or whoever, and you tell them exactly what happened. That you tried, but the Prophets were silent. Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first person they’ve ignored.”  
  
That seemed to ease his fears somewhat, but he still wouldn’t return to the couch. Kira remained there, hoping he would take it as an invitation to come back and sit with her. She had been looking forward to—if somewhat nervously dreading—a quiet evening to talk about whatever it was happening between the two of them. Maybe even some time spent a little more intimately. Apparently neither was to be. Not until Damar calmed down. “And no one said you had to take a ship into the wormhole,” she continued. “If the vedeks allow it, maybe you can try to use an orb, instead. We even have one here on the station.”  
  
Damar finally stopped his pacing and turned back to her. “Do you think that would work?”  
  
“It's worked before, why not now?”  
  
Apparently that did the trick. Damar moved back over to the couch, but still wouldn’t sit. Eventually Kira gave up on waiting for him. While he stared off into space and contemplated his options, she toed off her shoes and quietly slipped into the bedroom. By the time he finally noticed her absence she was down to nothing but a bracelet and her earring. Damar leaned into the room from around the corner, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of her in the low light.  
  
She tapped the bed impatiently. “Well? Are you going to join me?”  
  
He hesitated only a second or two, and then quickly pulled off his shirt and cast it aside. He tried to hop out of his pants as he stumbled into the bedroom, eventually landing sideways on the bed with absolutely no grace whatsoever. Kira couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle he made of himself.  
  
“You’re not helping,” he complained.  
  
“No?” She reached for him, and he quickly gathered her in his arms. So many things changed when they were close. Little things, like how he would press himself closer to her because he enjoyed her warmth. Or the way he fixated curiously on some spot where she would have had a line of scales if she'd been a Cardassian. It amused her, and in a way she enjoyed those casual, intimate gestures the most. There were many things about Damar that she would have changed if given the chance, but underneath his quick temper and ample sense of pride, he somehow managed to surprise her. He had learned a kind of consideration she wouldn’t have expected of him—of any Cardassian. It was there in how gently he touched her, despite how roughly she frequently handled him; in his attempts to avoid discussing things that he thought might upset her; and in his often awkward sentimentality. Only someone like Damar would try to show his affection on his _clothes_. She smiled at the thought of the jacket that lay discarded in the main room.  
  
“What are you smiling about?” he asked, just before kissing her cheek.  
  
Kira shook her head and lied, “Nothing.” He was leaning her back onto the bed, and she let him take the lead. “Nearly five months,” she said. “You must be a little anxious.”  
  
“I’m not the one who stripped and headed for the bedroom,” he reminded her.

Once he had her on her back, Damar gently trailed his lips across her collar and down between her breasts, lavishing them each with ample attention. While Kira let her head fall to the side and moaned against the back of her hand, he divided his time equally, paying no mind to the fingers she tangled tightly in his hair. The warmth of his tongue and the way he breathed heavily as he fondled and licked his way back and forth was driving rational thought out of her head, replacing it with some unexplored desires that should have shocked her much more than they did at that moment. Things she wouldn't have even considered before, though she was definitely considering them now. Looking down, watching him past the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she tried to convey her need without words.

Damar seemed to catch her meaning; with one knee he pushed her legs apart and moved into place between her thighs. His attention focused elsewhere meant releasing Kira from the grip of her own wild imagination, and she was grateful for the relief, but then she could feel him, heavy and thick between her legs as he rolled his hips to draw his arousal over her flushed skin. She let out a groan and shut her eyes as Damar reached down to work his fingers against her, his fore and middle fingers sliding easily over slick flesh. His hard length twitched eagerly against her inner thigh while he rubbed so vigorously that Kira could no longer contain the cry that was building in the back of her throat. At the point that she was nearly thrusting against his hand, Damar stopped abruptly to take hold of himself and press into her, finally giving in to what they both clearly wanted most. It was a relief and new source of unease all at once, and just like before the strange sensation of raised, rounded scales took Kira by surprise. Even so, she spread her legs wider to accommodate him and draw him closer. She held his shoulders tight and arched herself, pressing their bodies together while he moved deeper. It was easy then to forget how unsure she had been, and silence the voice in the back of her mind that viciously rebuked her for giving herself over to a Cardassian. All she wanted and could think of in that moment was how much she wanted Damar to move—but he suddenly seemed to be in no great hurry.  
  
“Damar, please,” she begged.  
  
He reached down to pull one of her legs up higher, and his mouth went to hers. The kiss was rough and demanding, and nothing like the way he moved inside her. It spoke of what he _wanted_ _to do_ , rather than what he was doing, and Kira ached for him to act on it. When he broke away and turned aside she could hear him grunting with the effort to control himself and keep each thrust shallow and slow. Hoping to encourage him, she wrapped her other leg around his hips, trying to raise herself to meet his thrusts, but the weight of his larger body prevented it and his movements remained steady. After a moment she felt his tongue on her neck, licking the sweat that beaded there. In a voice laced heavily with desire he said, “Tell me what you need.”  
  
A flurry of words came to mind all at once. _Faster_ , mostly. She wanted him to let go like he had before, the way she knew _he_ wanted. She remembered when he had pinned her against the wall of her quarters, and her whole body reacted to the thought of being held there while he bucked against her. Damar must have felt it, because he made a strangled sound and suddenly stopped. That wasn’t at all what she wanted.  
  
“ _Tell me_ ,” he repeated, and this time his words were rough and pleading. His hips jerked and Kira could feel his chest heaving with each breath. He pressed her against the mattress, holding her tight and waiting for the word to start again.  
  
“I need more—please,” she said finally. “I need you, I want _you_.”

“No one else,” he said. Whether he meant it as a question or a statement, she couldn't tell. He caught the skin at the top of her shoulder between his teeth and bit down gently.

Kira gasped as a shiver ran down her body. She grasped at his shoulder ridges blindly, sliding her fingertips over scales and rough skin until she lost track of where her hands were on his body. “Just you, _please_ ,” she breathed.  
  
The hand holding her leg squeezed so tight it was nearly painful, and then Damar surged forward. He rocked against her, harder each time, until he was driving into her with so much force that Kira briefly worried the bed might detach from where it was bolted to the wall. She could hear him, his voice low and deep, muttering in Cardassian with her name scattered between the rough sounds of his native tongue. Even if it weren’t for the line of scales that rubbed her with each thrust, the sensation of being filled and his body moving over hers, his incoherent pleasure and her own joy at finally getting what she needed would have been enough. She felt her climax coming like a wave on the horizon, giving little warning before it crashed over her with a roar that momentarily drowned out the sound of the bed protesting and Damar still growling untranslatable words in her ear. Her thighs clamped down on him, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. It felt like something releasing inside her, over and over, until it quietly faded, leaving her body feeling like static in its absence.  
  
It was only after she relaxed and released her grip on him that Kira realized Damar was moving slowly again, his hips stuttering unevenly against hers. She couldn’t hear him breathing until he stopped entirely, and then he let out a rush of air that seemed to take all of his energy with it. When it was over he sagged against her for a moment before dropping to his side and rolling onto his back beside her. She felt uncomfortably warm and entirely too dizzy, but the joy was still there. Somehow.  
  
They lay together quietly for a while after that. Finally, just when she thought Damar might have fallen asleep, he asked, “Would you like something to drink?”  
  
It was so casual and so out of place that Kira let out a laugh without meaning to.  
  
He sat up and frowned at her. “What?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she laughed. Then, more calmly, she changed her answer to, “Yes. I would like some water.”  
  
She was still chuckling when he returned. He handed her the glass and made another displeased face. “Would you stop that?”  
  
“It’s not you. I promise.”  
  
He settled down beside her and sighed. “I don’t understand you.”  
  
“Well, that’s the good thing about it, Damar.” She took another sip and set her glass on the bedside table. While he continued to frown, she sat up and leaned over him so that their faces were only a few millimeters apart. “You don’t have to.” After a quick kiss she made to turn back to her side of the bed again, but he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place.  
  
“What?” she asked after his stare started to become uncomfortable.  
  
“You’re beautiful like this. Do you know that?”  
  
His compliment caught her so off guard that she couldn’t think of anything to say in return. Damar eventually let go of her shoulders, but she didn’t move away at first. Not until he closed his eyes and turned his head aside to sleep. She settled in beside him then, but with no illusions of sleeping any time soon.

Something had changed between them. Only she wasn’t sure what it was, or just what it meant.  
  
  
  
  
Some time later, after what felt like several hours had gone by, Kira lay in the bed with Damar sleeping beside her. She was on her side, and the arm he wasn’t using as a pillow was draped over her waist. Warm air puffed against her back. When she shifted to make herself more comfortable he mumbled something inarticulate and then quickly settled back to sleep.  
  
To say the situation was surreal would have been an understatement; to say it didn’t worry her that she was so pleased would have been an outright lie. “I’m letting myself be happy,” she whispered, repeating Ezri’s counsel. But then her doubt took over again. “ _Why_ am I happy?”  
  
Damar’s hand went from slack to flat against her stomach, and she felt him sit up slightly. “ _Mm?_ ”  
  
“It’s nothing,” she said. When he didn’t immediately go back to sleep she added, “I’m surprised anything could wake you right now.”  
  
“Which begs the question why you _aren’t_ sleeping,” he said, almost coherently this time.  
  
Kira shrugged. “I’m not tired.”  
  
That apparently only intrigued him further. He leaned up on his elbow and peered over her shoulder. “I find that difficult to believe.”  
  
“Oh? Have I wounded your pride?”  
  
“Not at all. If anything I consider it a challenge.” He reached up to stroke her shoulder while he kissed her back. “Is everything alright?” he asked after another stretch of silence.  
  
It was nowhere near alright. She felt at war with herself, and it was mentally exhausting. “I have a lot on my mind,” was all she said. She felt certain he didn’t really want to know, anyway.  
  
Quickly proving her wrong, Damar pressed the issue. “Tell me.”  
  
After a moment to gather her thoughts, Kira rolled over onto her back. With Damar still leaning on his elbow, looking down at her far more patiently than she would have expected, a fresh wave of guilt added itself to the already noxious mix of emotions that weighed on her mind—guilt for his sake, which almost made it worse. It felt strange. The whole situation was so wrong, and yet she was happy and content at the same time.  
  
He must have seen some outward sign of her inner turmoil, because he quickly switched from understanding to concerned. “Kira?”  
  
“What are we doing?”  
  
“Doing…?”  
  
“Together.”  
  
Damar smirked and rubbed his hand over her thigh. “ _Well_ ,” he began, but a look from Kira cut him off, and his smirk disappeared. “I don’t understand.”  
  
She understood too well, and yet not at all; rationalizing their first tryst had been easy enough when she thought of it as something temporary that would disappear with Damar. Before his return to the station she had complained to Ezri that it _didn’t_ just disappear like she had expected. It continued, maybe not thriving, but holding on despite the distance and time that passed. After that she tried to dismiss its significance. It still wasn’t real if she refused to believe it existed.  
  
But Damar didn’t seem to feel that way. That wasn’t just a compliment earlier, it was genuine affection. It was something with substance, with depth. And that made it all far too real for her liking.  
  
Kira sat up and swiveled her legs over the edge of the bed. Her dress was on the floor, and the rest of her clothes were scattered around the suite. How long had it been? Hours, at least. She would be leaving his quarters in the middle of the night, wearing the same clothes she had come dressed in. Someone was going to notice.  
  
“Kira?”  
  
“I have to go,” she said. Without looking back—she wasn’t sure she wanted to see if he was angry or disappointed—she started gathering up her things, trying to pull them all back on at once. It wasn’t a graceful exit, but then it wouldn’t be a graceful walk back to her quarters, either.  
  
Before she could make it to the main door, Damar emerged, hastily clothed, from the bedroom behind her. “Wait!” After stumbling over his own discarded boots to reach her, he quickly inserted himself between Kira and the door. “I don’t know what happened—I never seem to. But if I said something… wrong…”  
  
Kira stepped around him. Shaking her head, she tapped the door panel. “You didn’t, Damar.”  
  
That was the problem.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“Both the Vedek Assembly and the Kai have approved you to access the orb here on the station. The Kai also wished you luck in the private correspondence relayed by First Minister Shakaar.” Nelara seemed to be reading straight from the padd while she spoke, but when Damar peered over her shoulder, he found it was blank.  
  
He sometimes wondered if taking her on as his assistant had been a wise decision. “Well, hopefully he meant that as a sign of encouragement,” he muttered. His instinct was to apply a sinister intent to everything Shakaar said after the first minister had left him for the vultures to pick apart at the conference. Deep down he knew it was irrational, but he was still bitter about it.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” Kren asked. “I think those Prophets might take better to me.”  
  
Damar didn’t respond, he just side-eyed the older Cardassian. With their height differences it also required looking up at him.  
  
“Don’t all the orbs have names?” he asked, changing the topic. Dukat had frequently lectured him on all the _many_ ways he found Bajoran culture both fascinating and ridiculous, and Damar was often surprised at how much he managed to remember. Unfortunately the information was fragmented, and usually only recalled vaguely, often when it was least useful. The man could talk for hours, after all.  
  
Nelara nodded. “This is the Orb of Contemplation. It was found in—”  
  
“Thank you, but I don’t require the full history. I doubt it will matter much. When is this spectacle supposed to take place?” He would have used the word _farce_ to describe it, or maybe even _sacrifice_ , but Kren seemed curiously sensitive about Bajorans for some reason. Damar made a mental note to bring that up at some point. Perhaps when he wasn’t about to throw himself on the mercy of timeless, nearly omnipotent entities. Or when his personal life wasn’t a chaotic wreck.  
  
Kira’s hasty departure the night before still weighed on him. She told him he hadn’t done anything to upset her, but her behavior said otherwise. He had gone over everything he could remember, and then gone over it all again, but nothing stood out. Nothing ever seemed to make sense where she was concerned. _She_ defied all logic and rationality. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t on purpose.  
  
“Tomorrow evening,” Nelara said, interrupting his frustrated thoughts. “First Minister Shakaar and the Council of Ministers will be returning to Bajor immediately after that, and so they have requested the earliest possible viewing, provided you find it agreeable.”  
  
“Why not? I might as well get it over with. For the record, if I don’t make it out of this…” What? He had no one to leave last words for, no one who would miss him. After last night he was certain Kira wouldn’t mind if he disappeared. “Just… don’t let them build any more statues of me.”  
  
“Noted.”  
  
Damar closed his eyes and shook his head. He should have more carefully screened his staff.  
  
“If there’s nothing else,” Nelara continued, “I will see to the preparations at the shrine. Please expect my full report on security considerations by 2300 hours.” She picked up two more padds on her way out the door.  
  
She had barely been gone a minute when Kren took a seat at the table next to where Damar was standing, staring out the window. He poured himself a glass of kanar—one of many bottles Damar’s well-wishers _insisted_ on sending to his quarters—and leaned back with a deep sigh. Almost as if he had been waiting for her to leave, he struck up a conversation that was just a bit too casual to be anything but planned. “I noticed the colonel stayed quite a while after dinner,” he said. An observation laced with meaning, if Damar had ever heard one.  
  
He half-turned to regard Kren. Was this the precursor to blackmail? “Oh?”  
  
Kren grunted an affirmative and tipped back half a glass in one go. “It was fortunate I had given the men the night off, and opted to take watch myself. Fortunate those Starfleet security people were posted a little too far down the corridor to see anything, too.”  
  
“And just why is that _fortunate?_ ” Damar asked. He could hear the undercurrent of anger stirring in his voice, but he made an effort to contain it. For the moment.  
  
“Calm down,” Kren commanded, and Damar was left speechless by the sudden reversal. Kren could be forceful at times, but he had never taken such a tone with him before. “I never was one for subtlety,” he continued with a lopsided shrug. “So I’ll just say this: You know as well as I do what’ll happen if word gets out that you have a Bajoran lover. Be careful,” he warned, ignoring Damar’s frantic, sputtering protests. “I believe in your vision for Cardassia, and I know it’s going to be a long, maybe even painful road to get there. Like—” He pointed to Damar’s stomach. “Removing a knife that’s been in too long. We both know that’s a dangerous prospect to begin with.” He poured himself another glass and downed it immediately. “But even I won’t be able to keep you safe if you go too far and twist the blade in the process.”  
  
“Kira isn’t—”  
  
“I’m in charge of your security, not your private life. I’m just offering a little unsolicited advice. Personally, I think she’s too good for this mess.”  
  
Damar blinked a few times. _Mess?_ “What—”  
  
But Kren was apparently finished dispensing advice for the evening. “I think I’ll join Nelara, after all. She’s got some funny ideas about security, and I don’t want to have to fix everything last minute again, like I did with the _Ranat_.” He stood and capped the kanar, then turned his glass upside down on the table. “And I’ve always appreciated the way Bajorans decorate their shrines. They’re… _graceful_. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Legate.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Is this really necessary?”  
  
Shakaar turned to look at the assembled crowd of spectators ringing the entrance to the shrine. “They’re excited,” he replied with a shrug.  
  
Damar narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Excited?” The throng of mostly Bajoran onlookers hardly seemed _pleased_ to see a Cardassian politician standing on the steps to their shrine. Someone nearby muttered a word that Damar had heard Kira use often enough to know that it wasn’t kind, even if he wasn’t certain of the exact translation. “I’m not so sure about that.”  
  
“Relax. The next time you see these people, they’ll be smiling.”  
  
He gave the first minister a sidelong look.  
  
Shakaar tilted his head and made a vague gesture. “Well, not frowning quite so much, I suppose.”  
  
Damar frowned and tried to avoid looking directly at anyone in the crowd, but it was proving difficult to stop himself from searching for Kira. She hadn’t shown up during Shakaar’s speech, nor had she made an appearance at any point during Damar’s extremely awkward and stilted follow up—which, now that he thought about it, might have accounted for some of the glaring. It seemed as though she should have been there as the station’s commanding officer, if not as a show of support for him. For a fleeting moment he was tempted to ask the first minister for advice on how to deal with her, but he very quickly dismissed that idea. He was sure Shakaar had no idea about Damar’s on-again, off-again relationship with his former significant other, there was absolutely no reason to bring that up now. Or ever.  
  
“You spoke to Vedek Lanta this morning? You know what to expect?” Shakaar asked.  
  
As they stepped through the arch, Damar cast one final look over his shoulder, but he only spotted Nelara, staring blankly at the crowd. Next to her was Kren, waving enthusiastically with his mechanical arm. “What to expect,” Damar said slowly, trying to recall Shakaar’s question. Yes, he knew what to expect. Rather, he knew the short list of possible results he could expect based on previous recorded interactions with orbs—none of which were undertaken by Cardassians. In fact, the only Cardassian (with the exception of scientists) that he knew of who had interacted with an orb in recent memory was Dukat. Dukat, of course, was likely the cause of some of the angry faces outside as well.  
  
“I have some idea,” he said as they entered the inner room. This was the temple, the heart of the structure, and at the front of the long row of icon reliefs and flickering candles was the oddly shaped box seated on its wide pedestal. The orb inside and its eerie light were obscured by the ornate structure that housed it, but Damar felt as if he could still sense its energy.  
  
To say it made him uneasy would have been an enormous understatement.  
  
“Well, then. Unless you have any last minute questions, concerns… farewells you’d like me to relay...”  
  
Damar whipped around to find that the first minister was attempting to hide a smile—at his expense. “I’m sorry,” Shakaar said, “Nerys told me you were nervous about this. I thought a little humor might lighten the mood.”  
  
“It absolutely did not.”  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Shakaar reassured him. “Remember why you’re doing this. It’s important, and it’s going to mean a lot to those people—even if they don’t really understand why just yet.”  
  
Damar was less concerned with the opinions of the strangers gathered outside than the aliens he was about to pester for symbolic absolution, or Kira, but it seemed pointless to separate the three under the circumstances. Nothing he said seemed to have an impact on Kira’s feelings, anyway; he was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t be doing her a kindness by simply leaving her alone.  
  
“Good luck,” Shakaar said. He clapped Damar on the shoulder amiably and then turned to leave. When he left he seemed to take all sense of normalcy from the room with him.  
  
The setup of the shrine did an excellent job of eliminating noise from the Promenade. It was uncomfortably silent in the small space, and even the sudden flicker of a candle flame seemed loud in the stillness. The pedestal that held the orb box was set on a small dais, and that itself was recessed into an alcove around which Damar could see the outline of a forcefield projector. It was turned off for the moment, making the candlelight seem brighter than normal. The numerous amber-colored glass panes set around the room offered a little extra illumination, but not much.  
  
_Just open the box_. That was what Vedek Lanta had told him, grudgingly. There was a small latch at the top that would allow him to open the hinged door, and then there would be nothing standing between Damar and the orb. No barriers, and no protection.  
  
He lifted a hand to reach for the latch, but stopped just shy of touching it.  
  
Wouldn’t it be possible to simply _claim_ he had communed with the Prophets? No one necessarily expected him to have a religious experience, as Kira had said; would they even press for details? Perhaps Bajorans felt that encounters with the orbs were a private matter, and no one would even ask.  
  
Kira would ask. Even if it was a private matter. If she ever spoke to him again, she would want to know. And he had a feeling she would see right through him if he lied.  
  
Steeling his nerves, Damar touched the latch. The door released as promised, and he pulled it aside to reveal the slowly spinning, crystalline hourglass shape in the center.  
  
_Why do they call it an orb?_ he wondered. _It’s not even round_.  
  
The light that emanated from it was bright, but it didn’t bother him to look directly at it, and when he trained his ears to the sound he could make out a faint, high whine. Like a fingertip tracing the lip of a glass. Apart from that, there didn’t seem to be anything particularly remarkable about the orb. It simply floated, rotated, and glowed.  
  
He tapped the door chime and waited for a response. _“Come in,”_ Kira called from the other side of the door. He stepped inside, holding the package between his hands like it contained a tangle of live vipers.  
  
“What do you want?” she demanded coolly.  
  
Damar opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn’t seem to produce a sound. This wasn’t where he was supposed to be, was it? Kira was looking at him like he was something distasteful stuck to the underside of her boot. His eyes wandered to the close-cropped hair that he’d seen her with for so many years. But not recently. “Your hair…” he muttered absently.  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“It’s short.”  
  
Kira gave him a patronizing look and said, “You’re perceptive. Is that something for me, or are you just performing random door-to-door checks to make sure everyone has been bothered enough today?”  
  
Damar looked down at the orange package in his hands. It was a dress. A blue dress, in fact, and he had watched Dukat carefully fold it into the package just before handing it to him with orders to deliver it to Kira. A local merchant had made it, cut to Kira’s measurements, and at the time Damar hadn’t wondered _why_ Dukat knew Kira’s measurements, but now he found it extremely odd and slightly off-putting. “It’s… for you,” he said, still distracted by how wrong everything was. He was in the shrine—had been in the shrine. When did he leave? Why was he delivering Dukat’s dress to Kira a second time? Where had he even found it?  
  
That same glassy whine threaded through the sound of Kira insulting him again, and then it all fell into place: this was the orb. Things weren’t wrong—or they were, but they were wrong on purpose. He was doing it again because he was _there again_.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Damar’s attention snapped back to the present—so to speak—and he looked up at Kira. She was staring at him with her arms crossed and the package in one hand. He could hear her tapping her boot on the carpet. “I’m—uh,” Damar stammered, but he had no idea how to follow up. Instead he turned and left. The door closed, leaving him standing out in the hall, alone and incredibly confused.  
  
Why was he back here? Why _this_ time?  
  
“I don’t want to be here,” he hissed at no one. “Send me back. This isn’t what I’m here for!” He was so upset by the unexpected turn of events that he missed Kira’s door opening a second time.  
  
“Why are you still here? And who are you talking to?” she asked.  
  
Damar spun around to look at her; she was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her hip cocked to the side. “I’m just…”  
  
“Well that’s one word more than the last time, at least. Keep it up, you’ll manage a whole sentence by the end of the war.”  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked when he noticed the package under her arm.  
  
She stepped out into the corridor, and right past him, heading in the same direction as Dukat’s quarters. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said over her shoulder.  
  
Damar hurried to follow. He already knew what happened: Kira gave the dress back to Dukat, and Dukat then gave it to Ziyal. She had worn it to the party.  
  
Ziyal.  
  
She was in her father’s quarters. He couldn’t bring himself to go there just yet, but he didn’t want to let Kira go, either. “Wait,” he said. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away from him at the last second.  
  
“What is your problem?” she demanded. “Don’t you have something else to do?”  
  
He mentally kicked himself for overreaching. This was not his Kira; this was the Kira that had almost fractured his skull without him ever laying a hand on her. Even his Kira was occasionally volatile—this one was downright deadly.  
  
And maybe she had a point, anyway.  
  
Vedek Lanta had told him orb experiences varied from person to person, and that they often relayed a message, taught a lesson, or even shared a warning. He was in the past, before he had made some of his worst mistakes. Was he there to change what had happened? What if the aliens in the wormhole had no use for his symbolic apology, and were offering him a chance to fix his mistakes, instead?  
  
“Yes. Of course,” he said. “My apologies for the interruption.”  
  
The last he saw of Kira before he turned and marched in the opposite direction was her bewildered stare. It occurred to him that if he could change the past, he could also change his future; maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult for the two of them if they didn’t have the cloud of his past crimes hanging over their heads, following them around night and day.  
  
Yes, it was possible he was exactly where he needed to be. He could fix everything. He could make it right.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“What’s wrong, Nerys? You’re brooding more than usual.”  
  
Kira’s attention wandered for a moment before she looked over at Shakaar and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“You know that I can tell when you’re lying.” He took a seat and folded his hands in his lap. “We can talk about it if you want. If not, I’m curious to know why you weren’t on the Promenade earlier. Felt a little odd doing all this on your station without _you_ there.”  
  
They were in Shakaar’s quarters. It was a guest suite slightly larger than Damar’s, with an extra room that was meant to serve as an office, set off to the side. It seemed wiser to keep this room for Shakaar and his people, and give Damar the one without the extra space. She couldn’t imagine he would have had much use for it. His staff seemed to do just fine with their own rooms. “Believe it or not, it’s all part of the same problem,” she said.  
  
“Damar?”  
  
“How’d you know?”  
  
“Lucky guess. And common sense. So, what is it? Is our Cardassian friend not as virtuous as you made him out to be?”  
  
Kira held a hand up to stop him. “I never said he was virtuous.”  
  
“You did sell me on some very promising personal qualities, though.”  
  
That she had, it was only fair to concede his point there. But she would have convinced him Winn was redeemable if she thought it would secure the stability of the sector. And providing Winn had shown the same ability to resurrect herself from the dead as Damar.  
  
“To be honest, I like him,” Shakaar continued. “Of course, I admit part of it is that he has no clue how to conceal his feelings, or his intentions. But I think he’s definitely genuine in his desire for peace. Or he believes he is, anyway. He may not fully understand the danger his people pose, regardless of his wishes. It’s actually very—”  
  
“We’ve become involved with each other,” Kira said quickly, before she could stop herself. It was the only way.  
  
Shakaar’s patient, pleasant expression dropped, and his face became a blank mask. He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, and then his brow furrowed and his eyes pinched together in disbelief. “You’re serious?”  
  
She didn’t respond to that. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t have said it otherwise.  
  
He sat up in the chair and hunched forward, twining his fingers together and resting his elbows on his knees. She could tell he was processing the information, comparing it to everything he had seen since he arrived on the station, holding it up against his own interactions with Damar. In that silence Kira suddenly felt incredibly foolish. This wasn’t something Shakaar ever needed to know, and it couldn’t be pleasant for him. Unfortunately it was also too late to take it back.  
  
“Is he—I can’t believe I’m asking you this. Are you sure he isn’t using you? For Cardassia’s benefit?”  
  
“You know I would never let him get away with that. Besides, I barely managed to get him to leave Bajor. Though I think nearly being killed did most of the work for me.” She shook her head. “If anything, I’m using _him_ for _our_ benefit. In a manner of speaking. You and I both know that Cardassia’s instability is this entire sector’s problem—or it will be, when they give up on following him and decide to go back to the old way of doing things.”  
  
Shakaar nodded. “I know that all too well,” he said. “And I’ve spent months trying to make the Council of Ministers see it, too. But, the two of you...? I just can’t wrap my head around it. This isn’t something I’d have expected.”  
  
“You say that like you think I expected it.”  
  
“Alright,” he said, conceding her point without a fight. He clapped his hands and sat back again. “It is what it is, I’ll come to terms with it eventually, I’m sure. Maybe. And I’m well aware of my chances when it comes to changing your mind on anything. So, let’s focus on the problem at hand. What happened? I know you, if he had done something that bad he’d be lying in a hospital bed or getting shipped back to Cardassia for state burial.”  
  
Kira took a deep breath and then let it out again with an exaggerated shrug. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” she said quickly, “that’s the problem. Well, no—he’s done a _lot_ wrong. It matters, and then sometimes it doesn’t, but...  Does this make _any_ sense?” She looked up at Shakaar, hoping he could tell just how lost she was without needing to hear more. It was getting harder and harder to explain after so much time spent trying to understand it herself.  
  
“You thought you could walk away from this when it got too complicated, but you missed your opportunity. Now you’re panicking.”  
  
“You should become a counselor.”  
  
“I’ll consider it when my term is up.” After a moment his shoulders slumped and he gave her a look that she knew meant he had nothing to tell her that she didn’t already know. “You’ve fallen for him.”  
  
Her first instinct was to deny it, but it would have been a lie, and she knew he would call her on it. “I feel like I’m betraying so many people. Like I’m betraying myself.”  
  
He nodded thoughtfully and said, “Maybe. Oh, don’t look so wounded—what do you want me to say? I can’t tell you what the dead think. I can’t even tell what _you're_ thinking most of the time, though it’s always been fun to pretend I have some idea. There’s no written rule for this sort of thing. But I can tell you that denying your own feelings for their benefit won’t do them any good. You don’t have to forgive his mistakes, but you don’t have to live in them, either.”  
  
Kira took some time to consider his words. She wondered if it was the same thing Ezri had told her, just delivered with a lot more punch and a lot less sympathy. Maybe that was what she really needed. Shakaar knew her, even if he felt like he didn’t, and he knew how to get through to her quickly. “Will this change things? Between his government and yours,” she asked.  
  
Shakaar shook his head. “There was a time,” he said, “but I think age has tempered me.”  
  
“Being in the public eye has tempered you. It’s a lot harder for the First Minister of Bajor to knock someone out when he’s unhappy about what they have to say.”  
  
“Harder, but not impossible,” Shakaar corrected. “Although I am tempted to go back to that shrine and punch your friend in his scaly head. I suppose I’ll have to settle for making his life difficult in other ways. Who knows, maybe I’ll enjoy that even more.”  
  
Kira gave him a look and said, “It’s probably for the best that you don’t. Although it would be an interesting diplomatic incident.”  
  
Shakaar waved aside her concerns with a flick of his hand. “I’ve seen people interacting with those orbs before. He wouldn’t even know what was happening.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Damar sat back in his chair and let the padd fall to the tabletop with a clatter. He felt as if he had been sitting there all evening, going over the same short list of mistakes he intended to change. Foremost among those was obviously Ziyal, whose death he had regretted from the moment his finger touched the trigger. In addition to being a terrible choice made in a heated moment, driven more by fear than common sense, it had only served to drive Dukat even deeper into the madness that was already showing at the edges, before anyone noticed. And on a personal level, it had drawn a line between himself and Kira that he wasn’t certain she could ever will herself to cross.  
  
He rubbed his eyes to wipe away some of the looming exhaustion and checked the list again. Nothing could be left to chance, he had to get it all right this time. Obviously that included some of the more regrettable things he’d said to Kira, but those he was confident he could deal with as they came up. After all, he couldn’t plan for interactions that might occur when his intention was to alter events entirely. Already things had changed; his apology outside her quarters was just the beginning. His hope was that changing his behavior now might make things easier for the two of them later. That—even if she still despised him for the time being—they wouldn’t have to start from a place of pure hatred later on.  
  
He only had a few weeks, and so much to do in that short time. If he forgot anything…  
  
With a long sigh, he scrolled to the top of the list and started reading again.  
  
  
  
  
“I expected you at the party last night,” Dukat said. “ _We_ expected you. Ziyal was very disappointed when you didn’t show.”  
  
Damar doubted that she had even noticed. He recalled little of the original party, but what he did remember included Ziyal, constantly beset by an overeager pack of jackals who were more interested in her father’s favor than her accomplishments, and Weyoun. The little Vorta had spent the whole evening flitting about like a Terran butterfly, attempting to convince the other guests that he wasn’t there just to satisfy his own demented curiosity. At the time Damar found it amusing, at least until he located the high quality kanar Dukat had ordered. All he remembered after that was staggering back to his quarters leaning on Quark, who Dukat had hired to cater the party. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought there was something about trying to take the Ferengi’s vest clip, as well.  
  
“I wasn’t well,” Damar lied. He certainly didn’t regret missing out on the opportunity to be sober for most of that.  
  
“I see. Well, I hope you’re feeling better today. We have a lot of work to do, Damar.”  
  
A knowing smile, meant only for himself, tugged at the corners of Damar’s mouth. Yes, there was a lot to do. “Absolutely, sir.”  
  
In the first version of events he had spent the morning after the party drafting a proposal to poison the Jem’Hadar in the Alpha Quadrant, should the Dominion fail to bring down the minefield surrounding the wormhole. He had never learned just how they did it, but somehow those leathery monstrosities had broken into his quarters and stolen the padd that contained the memo. Three of his men were killed in the ensuing brawl at Quark’s, and he had suffered more than a few bruises and scrapes himself. He couldn’t recall if any of the Jem’Hadar were killed, but it seemed pointless to incite a riot now. Weyoun had soundly refused his idea, anyway; something told Damar that the Vorta preferred being surrounded by troops he knew he could control. A wise decision for him.  
  
When his shift ended and Dukat had finished rambling about the inevitability of his rise to power, beginning with the remarkably auspicious circumstances of his birth, apparently, Damar left Ops and headed directly for Quark’s. It was a favorite haunt of Kira’s, and a good place to start looking for her. His bad blood with her was one of the mistakes he intended to fix, after all.  
  
On his way to the Promenade, he wondered if his Kira would recall any of the changes once Damar returned to his present. He had never experienced any sort of temporal event; would _he_ even remember what he had done? The Prophets clearly worked differently, and perhaps that meant that the outcome would be different as well. Either way, there was little he could do about it at the moment, and so he put it from his mind. By the time he reached Quark’s he was in high spirits, and already thinking of how he would approach Kira. Planting the seeds of their future relationship would take delicacy. Precision.  
  
He heard the sound of violence before he even saw the flashing lights of Quark’s. A Cardassian soldier was thrown out onto the Promenade, bleeding profusely from a wound in the center of his chest. He died almost instantly. Damar recognized him. He was a young gil—an engineer, and he had been the first to die during the fight that happened in the original timeline. But there had been no memo, nothing for the Jem’Hadar to steal. It made no sense that the fight still happened!  
  
Damar rushed inside, hoping to break up the melee before it could get any worse, and instead found himself embroiled in the chaos almost immediately. A Jem’Hadar swung at him and he successfully ducked, only to be caught by a low swing from another. Once he was down on his hands and knees, the first one aimed a savage kick at his arm. Damar heard the bone crack.  
  
So far, things were not going as planned.  
  
  
  
  
“They were fighting over seats, apparently.” Or so he had been told by one of the waiters. What struck Damar as particularly senseless about the whole incident was that the Jem’Hadar had no reason to even be at Quark’s, let alone take up some of the limited table space.  
  
“I don’t _care_ what they were fighting over, Damar. We lost three today, and the Jem’Hadar barely suffered a scratch. Only a _single_ casualty among them, with a bar full of our own soldiers, and that’s only because the Jem’Hadar was so distracted _killing someone_ that he didn’t notice the knife coming for him. If your men are going to act like those laboratory manufactured abominations, the least they can do is fight like them!”  
  
“Sir—”  
  
“I don’t want to hear your excuses! My decision stands, they are to be confined to quarters for the next two weeks. We’ll worry about further disciplinary actions later.”  
  
Damar turned to leave, but Dukat’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “How is your arm?” he asked, in one of his customary whiplash mood swings. “I trust the Bajoran medical staff here are at least capable of setting a bone correctly.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Damar said. “I’ve never felt better.” In truth, he felt terrible. The men he thought would be saved had still died, several of the bar patrons were wounded, and the Jem’Hadar were bristling with pride over their _victory_. It almost made him want to poison the White supply himself.  
  
“Good. I need you to be at your best right now. The _empire_ needs you at your best. Once we’ve shown our Dominion allies just what we’re capable of, there will be nothing we are unable to do. Nothing we cannot achieve. I know your pride is wounded, and I don’t blame you. The Jem’Hadar are mindless brutes—they don’t have the _passion_ we do, they don’t have the same fire that drives men like you and I. Their strength has been bred into them, but ours is a birthright,” Dukat said, his voice taking on an intensity that Damar had once found stirring. Now it just seemed like hollow, vaguely patriotic bravado. He wondered how he could have ever been taken in by this sort of performance. Fire? Dukat had no fire. His only drive was his insatiable ego. “We cannot show them any weakness, or they _will_ destroy us.”  
  
He wanted to tell Dukat that they were going to do it anyway. In fact, the stronger the Cardassian people proved to be, the more excuses Weyoun and his Changeling master would find to eliminate them. It was just a matter of time. Instead he only nodded and waited for Dukat to finally let him leave.  
  
Although unfortunate, failing to prevent the fight at Quark’s was not a serious setback to his plans. As he marched back through Ops and stepped onto the turbolift, Damar thought about the next series of events: the arrival of the Founder, his promotion and, of course, what had prompted it—his plan to disable the minefield. The sad and shameful fact of the matter was that he hadn’t thought of it at all.The gil who had died at Quark’s did, and Damar only stumbled across the information while he was gathering up the personal effects of the slain men. He would have to take credit for the young man’s work again, no matter how distasteful it felt. If there was even a chance that not receiving his promotion could mean being denied Dukat’s position once he fell, it was worth the black mark on his integrity. He resolved to find the gil’s family in the future, if they were still alive, and make it up to them somehow. That personal promise eased his conscience somewhat, though it did nothing to mask the sour taste in his mouth.  
  
He was just passing Odo’s quarters when the door opened, and Kira stepped out almost in front of him. They both came up short to avoid running into each other. She seemed upset. “ _Move,_ ” she snapped, but Damar remained where he was.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked.  
  
Kira narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “The Jem’Hadar must have broken more than just your arm,” she said. “What are you trying to do?”  
  
“I’m not trying t—”  
  
“Oh, I get it! This is Dukat’s new game, right? He thinks if he can get you to start acting like a decent person, then maybe it’ll convince me I was _wrong_ to misjudge all of you so terribly. Am I right? Well, I’m happy to inform you that you can go back to being yourself. It’s not going to work.” She shoved past him and continued down the hall at a furious pace, arms swinging at her sides and challenging anyone else to dare get in her way.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“Orb experiences can last anywhere from a few seconds to several hours, Colonel,” Vedek Lanta explained. “One or two have even stretched into days. I wouldn’t worry.”  
  
“He’s been in there for a while, I’m just concerned that something might be wrong.” Specifically, she was worried that Damar had been right, and maybe the Prophets wouldn’t look kindly upon a Cardassian invading their realm through an artifact that had been expressly intended for the Bajoran people.  
  
“Trust in the Prophets,” Lanta reminded her.  
  
She trusted the Prophets, but she didn’t necessarily trust Damar’s ability to handle himself around them. Captain Sisko had said that they were suspicious of him at first, ready to destroy him to protect themselves. What if that was their reaction to Damar’s presence?  
  
“Thank you, Vedek. I think I’ll go check in with the legate’s security. They might need some reassurance, too.”  
  
Lanta nodded gracefully. “Of course.”  
  
Outside the shrine, Kren and a small handful of the station security had taken up watch to prevent anyone else from entering until Damar was finished. The crowd of onlookers had dispersed after some time, when it was clear he wouldn’t be coming out right away. Kira caught Kren’s eye and inclined her head when he shot her a friendly smile. She still wasn’t quite sure how to respond to him. According to Julian, he was a sour, ill-tempered old man, with few redeeming qualities apart from his exceptional resilience to pain. Most others she spoke to shared similar opinions of the elderly Cardassian. Only Kira seemed to have earned his admiration, and she had no idea how. “Colonel,” Kren greeted when she reached the steps before the shrine. “What can I do for you?”  
  
“He’s still inside?” she asked.  
  
“He is.”  
  
“Do you think I could go in there to check on him? It’s been awhile.” She didn’t want to alarm him by mentioning that the average orb vision only lasted a matter of minutes, despite Lanta’s reassurances.  
  
Kren shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but Legate Damar instructed me not to let anyone in. No exceptions. I would really like to, but his orders were clear.”  
  
She had a feeling that would be his answer. “Can you let me know when he comes back out?”  
  
“I will inform you the moment anything happens,” Kren said. In one of the few times she could recall where a Cardassian was involved, Kira believed him. She thanked him and headed off toward the turbolift, intending to join Ezri in Ops. If nothing else she could at least keep herself busy with work while she waited.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“This is going to change everything, Damar,“ Dukat hissed victoriously. He clenched the padd in his fist like he could somehow absorb its information into himself if he squeezed hard enough. Damar could only think of the unfortunate gil who had died in the doorway of Quark’s. He should have been the one promoted for his ingenuity, not the opportunist who had scavenged the solution from his hard work. Damar waited for the next part of Dukat’s appreciation to fall on him undeservedly. “You’ve done a great thing for the Union,” Dukat said, adding, “ _and_ the Dominion,” almost as an afterthought. “And I think… yes, it’s time you received your due for the work you’ve done. Congratulations, _Gul_ Damar.” He smiled broadly. “Of course, it will take some time to make it official. You understand.”  
  
Damar tried to summon the feigned excitement he knew Dukat expected, but it was proving difficult. He managed to smile and nod, but he had a feeling his body language didn’t exhibit the enthusiasm he was meant to feel at the announcement of his promotion. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and the words sounded flat even to his own ears.  
  
“Damar.”  
  
He lifted his head to find Dukat staring at him. “I just promoted you,” he said. “And instead of celebrating, you look as if someone has just died.”  
  
Damar nearly pointed out that someone had; three men, only hours before. And now he was being rewarded. “It’s nothing,” he said instead.  
  
Dukat shifted from concerned to casual, his shoulders going slack as he sauntered around the side of the desk to take a seat. He picked up Captain Sisko’s baseball on his way and began rolling it between his palms. “I think I know what the problem is,” he announced.  
  
“Really, it’s—”  
  
“Major Kira came by earlier. She told me you two had an encounter in the Habitat Ring. I was rather surprised by the strange accusations she directed at me, but now I think I’m beginning to understand.” He leaned forward and set the baseball on the desk. It rolled back down the angled glass surface and Dukat caught it again before it could drop. “You’ve developed an attraction to the major, haven’t you.”  
  
Damar knew Dukat could be a dangerous man—often an unpredictable man, who jealously guarded the things he saw as his possessions. That extended to some people, as well, and certainly included Kira. Dukat had always believed that he had some sort of right to her, no matter how many times she refused him. In fact, he seemed to think her anger was merely playing coy; that she was trying to deny the feelings he was so sure she harbored for him, deep down. Damar could say from experience that Kira was perfectly capable of doing this, but he also knew that had never been the case with Dukat. She was disgusted by him. He just refused to admit it to himself, like so many things.  
  
Dukat leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You are one of my best men,” he began, and Damar suddenly wanted to find something to defend himself. “I’ve _trusted_ you, more than any other man I’ve ever commanded.”  
  
“It’s not…” It was, actually. But Dukat didn’t need to know that. “It’s not what you think.”  
  
Dukat bowed his head in a slow nod, and then smiled broadly at Damar. He looked like a predator surveying his next meal, all teeth and intent. “ _Of course_ I am happy to share the major with you,” he said, with a conspiratorial tone that said he’d already given the matter a great deal of thought.  
  
Damar’s blood ran cold, and he was sure he made some sound, but the sudden rush of adrenaline and the roar in his ears masked it, whatever it might have been. His jaw worked a few times and then failed him completely, and he was left staring at Dukat’s smug grin in slack-jawed disbelief. He wanted to jump across the desk and strangle him with his bare hands—he wanted to find a weapon on the highest setting and reduce the man to a fine scattering of matter that would only register as dust across Captain Sisko’s desk. But as powerful as that urge was, it didn’t suit his plans to get himself executed for murdering his commanding officer. Although he wondered if it might not unintentionally endear him to Weyoun, instead.  
  
“She’ll come around eventually,” Dukat continued, blind to Damar’s anger, “you needn’t push her. I understand your feelings—Kira is a _fascinating_ woman—but you must remain patient, as I have been. When she’s ready, she’ll come to me. And then I will bring her to you.”  
  
Damar clenched his fists and forced himself to nod. He had known something of Dukat’s depravity, and more than he cared to of his past indiscretions and the ways he preferred to _amuse_ himself. Some things he wished he could forget. This was a new low, however.  
  
He watched Dukat drop the baseball on the desk again, this time leaving it to spin in place. “Well, you have a lot of work to do. This plan of yours will require testing, of course, so I suggest you get started. We don’t want to keep the Alpha Quadrant waiting.”  
  
“Sir,” Damar ground through clenched teeth. He was grateful to the door that opened in front of him as spun on his heel to leave.  
  
“And Damar?”  
  
Damar turned back from the door. He was beginning to recall just how rarely Dukat had ever let him go without stopping him several times to stroke his own ego just a little bit more. “The shapeshifter—the _Founder_ —will be staying with us for a while, it seems. I’m sure she’ll learn of this,” he said, waving the padd that contained the deflector reconfiguration proposal, “in short order. When that happens, let me do the talking. I know this plan to disable the minefield is yours, but I have more experience dealing with her ...people.”  
  
Meaning he was going to take the credit for the work he thought was Damar’s.  
  
“Of course,” Damar said, and this time he was certain he had managed to convincingly fake his respect for the man.  
  
As he left Dukat’s office, Damar couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t just making things worse, rather than better. So far he hadn’t managed to fix anything, and on top of despising him, Kira now believed he was part of Dukat’s scheme to conquer her. The thought of Dukat’s promise made him feel filthy, to say nothing of how it might impact her feelings toward him later if she caught wind of it.  
  
Unfortunately for both of them, that wasn’t his primary concern at the moment. He had to put a team of engineers to work on the deflector array, and do his best to stop anyone from uncovering Rom’s attempt to sabotage it before they could begin their first tests. If he could find a decent excuse to stall the work teams, it might be possible to prevent the Ferengi’s capture entirely. Perhaps that would also do something to fix the damage he had done with Kira. While he didn’t expect to be in her good graces any time soon, the least he could do was keep himself from having to arrest her friends.  
  
_Something_ had to go right eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am not sure if anyone will see this, but on the off chance that someone comes by wondering where the next chapter is (since I usually post on Tuesday/Wednesday), I thought it would be nice to give you a little note.
> 
> I'm going on vacation this week. We're actually leaving tomorrow morning, so I'll be back on Monday the 22nd. My plan was to edit and post chapter 4 today, but the day ended up a little busier than anticipated. So I will be working on the last edit while I'm at the beach, assuming we have internet there, and hopefully I'll be able to post it as soon as I return.
> 
> To make it up to you guys, last week I wrote a fifth chapter. This fic was originally going to end on 4, but I decided I didn't like where it stopped and I wrote another 15 or so pages. Hopefully that covers making you wait an extra week!


	4. Chapter 4

It made no _sense_.

Rom should have been able to get in and out of the conduit undetected. Damar had programmed the system interruption in the security office to run at 0800 exactly, the same time Rom opened the hatch and tripped the alarm before. It would have given him ample time to sabotage the deflector array and get back out again without anyone knowing he had ever been there. Why, then, was he sitting in a holding cell, staring at his feet?

Why did he open the hatch _five minutes earlier_ this time?

“This isn’t right,” Damar muttered.

“Sir?”

He looked over at the Cardassian guard standing beside the cell. The soldier quickly shifted his gaze to the Jem’Hadar by the door. _Of course_. They expected him to play the part of the man who had just captured a traitor. Peering down at his prisoner like he’d swallowed something unpleasant, Damar straightened up and said in his most arrogant, disdainful sneer, “The Ferengi should be _dead_ , not sitting in a cell.”

The guard relaxed, and Damar looked over his shoulder to confirm that the cold eyes of the Jem’Hadar behind him were focused on the wall, instead of his back. He felt a pang of guilt when he turned around again to find that Rom had hunkered down and drawn his legs up onto the bench. It was unfortunate, given what the Ferengi would do for Damar and his people in the future, but nothing could be done about it now. Marking himself as a traitor to momentarily console Rom wouldn’t help either of them. In fact, thinking over his numerous failed attempts to correct the past so far, Damar was beginning to doubt that _anything_ would. It seemed as though everything he intended to change found some way to happen regardless of his interference—as though the events themselves were adapting to circumvent his efforts. He _knew_ Rom had opened that hatch at 0800 hours exactly. What possible reason could he have had for opening it earlier this time? What reason, but something that compelled him to make sure he was caught, no matter what anyone did to prevent it?

The first and most obvious explanation Damar could think of was the Prophets. Maybe _this_ was their punishment—the torment of watching everything fall apart as he scrambled to hold it together, failing over and over to their great amusement. It seemed an appropriately cruel way to inflict misery on one’s enemies. After weeks of watching his carefully laid plans amount to less than nothing, he was sure that this, if it was indeed their work, was much more effective than simply willing him out of existence. Looking at Rom, Damar wondered if reminding him of his crimes was part of it. He could have told them that wasn’t necessary, if they’d bothered to speak to him.

To his immense relief—and Rom’s, no doubt—their time spent as captor and captive would be brief that morning. Damar was due in Dukat’s office for an intelligence briefing, and punctuality was a quality expected of a Cardassian soldier. Even one who was working hard to ensure that his people’s enemies were victorious.

Despite several setbacks, things were still happening more or less as they had before, and Damar expected his conversation with Dukat would be no different. After the meeting, Dukat would order him to carry out a personal task—do the impossible, and convince Ziyal that she should return to her father’s side. It said a great deal about the man that he believed the love and loyalty of his daughter could be commanded like one of his men. The entire exercise had been a disaster from start to finish. Damar recalled quite clearly the events that had unfolded in the cargo bay, and he had no interest in a repeat performance, no matter what the beings in the wormhole desired. They could manipulate events to maintain the course of history, but they couldn’t make him instigate the disastrous fight with Kira. That was something he had done on his own. They could control everything but _him_ , and he was going to prove it.

 

 

“Sir, I doubt Ziyal will listen to me,” Damar explained, hoping to avoid the issue entirely and spare himself the trouble of going all the way down to the cargo bay for nothing.

Predictably, Dukat hovered menacingly at Damar’s side while he tried to process the lack of instantaneous compliance. “I’ve given you an _order_ ,” he snapped. “I will not be defied by my own daughter, _or_ by the men under my command. Do I make myself clear?”

Despite Damar’s hopes, deep down he knew he could never convince Dukat that bringing Ziyal to heel was impossible. Not only because of whatever outside forces contrived to keep history on track, but because it was simply beyond Dukat’s nature to even consider that she might continue to defy him. In his heart, Dukat believed that the universe would always bend itself to suit him, and with enough time and tenacity, he could force anyone to do as he wished. That kind of will could have made him a great man, or it could have made an already good man better, but instead it led him down the path of madness and self destruction, taking everyone else along with him. Something about it struck Damar as incredibly wasteful, and for a fleeting moment he actually felt sorry for Dukat.

But there was something else buried deep beneath the egomania, something that drove Dukat’s obsessive need to have his daughter’s total capitulation, and it erased any hint of pity Damar might have spared the held for him. Ziyal represented everything Dukat had given up. The sacrifice of his wife and other children, who still refused to forgive him for his indiscretions and the embarrassment he had caused them. She was the cause of the time he had spent scraping by as captain of the _Groumall_ , wasting away while his enemies snickered and smiled behind his back, and his friends abandoned him one by one. He could have ruled the entire Alpha Quadrant, and yet it still wouldn’t have been enough to undo the humiliation he had suffered because he chose Ziyal’s life over his reputation.

Damar wondered if Ziyal had ever realized her father felt so bitterly about the parts of his life he had given up for her sake; that he blamed her for the choice he made. He wondered if Dukat realized it.

“Perfectly clear, sir,” Damar said quietly. He left the office and made his way to the turbolift on the other side of Ops, headed for his ill-fated encounter with Kira in the cargo bay. He had already decided not to challenge her, or speak harshly to Ziyal in any way. He would not give Kira any excuse to strike first, or either woman a reason to interpret his actions as aggressive. No matter what was said, he would remain diplomatic. It would almost certainly be difficult—even in his own time he often found Kira’s temper hard to manage calmly, but it wasn’t impossible. He hadn’t known her as well the first time around, before the endless hours they spent hidden away in Enabran Tain’s basement. Although they had eventually come to appreciate each other as fellow soldiers, and only recently in much more intimate terms. But he was almost certain she wouldn’t strike without provocation, and that was what he counted on in the hope that he could _finally_ change something for the better.

He found them in Bay 2, wandering between stacks of grain while Kira plucked away at a manifest list. The scene was familiar, but Damar almost felt as if he’d experienced it from another perspective the first time around. Like it was someone else’s memory. The sight of Ziyal made something turn over in his stomach, and he fought to keep it under control as he made a slow and obvious approach.

“What do _you_ want?” Kira called across the bay when she spotted him. Her voice echoed off the containers stacked to the ceiling around them, making her disgust that much more all-encompassing and uncomfortable.

“I need to talk to Ziyal,” Damar answered. In the back of his mind he wondered why he hadn’t just gone to Quark’s and played a game of dabo, then returned to Dukat and told him that his daughter had said no.

_Because then Kira probably would have found you and fractured your skull for some_ other _reason_ , he thought bitterly.

“Well, I don’t want to talk,” Ziyal said, poking her head out from behind Kira’s shoulder. She moved closer to her protector as Damar approached. “So you can leave.”

“Ziyal, your father sent me. I understand that you’re angry, but if you would just listen to what—”

“I’m starting to think you really _are_ an idiot,” Kira laughed viciously. “She said no. So why don’t you just crawl back under Dukat’s desk like a _good_ dog, and leave her alone.”

He had to give Kira credit, she really did know how to get under his skin with very little effort. “If you don’t mind, Major, I’d like to speak to Ziyal alone,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“I do mind, in fact.”

“ _Please_.”

Ziyal watched the two of them like a child waiting to see which of her parents would give in first. “Kira, maybe I should just listen to him...”

“No. You said you didn’t want to talk, I’m not going to let him bully you into it. Damar here is just going to have to learn that he can't always get his way.”

Despite his personal history with her in his own time, dealing with Kira in the past was proving to be almost as much of a challenge as repairing the Union. He would have preferred the politics and assassination attempts over her hair-trigger temper, if given the choice. “I’m not trying to _bully her_ ,” he said through clenched teeth. “I just want to explain—”

“I can always make you leave,” Kira offered.

Desperate to keep the situation from escalating any further than it already had, Damar backed away a step and said, “I’m only following orders.”

Suddenly the gap between them disappeared; Kira was in his face, tense with rage and so close he could hear the sound of her earring chain as it tapped against the charm. “I don’t give a _damn_ about your orders!” she snarled. “ _Leave!_ ”

Behind Kira, Ziyal had given up on waiting to see the outcome of their posturing, or she had correctly predicted what was coming next. She started to leave, and Damar forgot all about the imminent threat hovering millimeters from his face. He leaned past Kira, placing a hand on her arm without thinking as he did so, and by the time he realized his mistake it was already too late. The heel of her palm landed in the dead center of his chest as she threw his arm aside with her other hand. The second blow came down quickly against the side of his head. The third and fourth were followed by Damar’s bitter realization that he was a fool to have thought he had any sort of control—over himself, over the situation, over any of the mistakes he had made in his life. If the Prophets really were punishing him, they were doing an excellent job of it.

He risked a glance upward to see Kira preparing another strike, and he was certain this one would put him down and keep him there for some time. If memory served, he had woken up the first time face down on the floor of the bay.

The inevitability of it all was laughable, really. He was powerless to stop anything. Now, or in his own time.

A man’s voice abruptly cut through the pounding in his ears. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” it asked.

Damar blinked at the sudden change of surroundings, and the strange absence of pain where Kira had struck him only seconds before. She was gone, and Ziyal was nowhere to be found. The cargo bay had been replaced by a washed out replica of Ops. At the top of the stairs, standing in front of his office, was Benjamin Sisko.

“I don’t understand,” Damar said, carefully rising from the floor. “What happened? Where am I now?”

“Do you really want me to explain?" Sisko asked. "It’s a little more complicated than just accepting it for what it appears to be.”

Damar shook his head. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details, much less think about it any more than he already had. “You did this?”

“Yes... And no.” Sisko descended the steps and joined Damar in the center of the room. They faced each other across the round display table, but the barrier between them did little to relieve Damar’s discomfort. Anyone who could simply will another person to a different place and time would find a piece of equipment a paltry obstacle. And after what he’d been through already, it seemed wiser not to assume the captain’s motives. “I set the scene,” Sisko continued, apparently unconcerned with Damar’s paranoia. “You ran the show.”

“ _Ran it?_ I couldn’t do anything. It all ended up the same as the first time.”

“Ah, _that_ ,” Sisko muttered. There was something wholly unsettling about him, Damar decided as he watched the captain gather his thoughts. He just wasn't sure what. “At first I wondered why you kept trying to change everything. That is, until I realized that you believed you really were reliving the past. It’s an easy mistake to make—when you don’t pay attention.” He made his way around the table to stand beside Damar, who, to his credit, managed to stop himself from backing away. “Your assistant, she tried to explain the orb to you, remember? But you told her not to bother. Well,” Sisko said, gesturing around the room and smiling. “Here we are. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had just been a little more patient.”

“Then this was a punishment.”

“No, not a punishment,” Sisko corrected. “A lesson. An _attempt_ at a lesson, anyway. I don’t think it really had the desired effect.” He reached back to scratch behind his ear while he frowned sheepishly. It was the first time he appeared as human as Damar expected him to be. “Sorry about that, I don’t usually do these. I tried to be more straightforward than _them_.”

Damar would have argued that there was absolutely nothing straightforward about what he’d been through, but he decided not to bother. Instead, he asked, “Why that time? If you didn’t intend to let me change anything, why send me to the past at all?”

“Because I thought you needed to see yourself as you were, see things that happened and the reactions from others as they had been then. It isn’t always easy for us to know the ways we’ve changed, even if we think we can understand how certain events have affected us. In my experience, a little perspective can be helpful.” Sisko circled back around to the other side of the table, no longer looking at Damar as he spoke. Instead he watched the flickering screens that displayed nothing. “We never had the chance to speak to one another after you turned on the Dominion, but I’ve had plenty of opportunities to observe you since then. Things haven’t gone at all how you wanted them to, have they?” he asked. “You tried to hide from history, but you were discovered on Bajor. You tried to avoid going back to your people, but you lost your anonymity when you were injured. Every time you attempted to subvert the course of history and deny your part in it, you were left with no option but to move forward anyway. Really, it’s no different from what you’ve been trying to do since you opened the door to the orb. So maybe all of this wasn’t such a waste after all.” He turned to Damar with one eyebrow cocked curiously. “ _If_ you understood the point.”

Damar was lost in the lecture. He had no idea what Sisko was getting at, or what he was supposed to have come away from the miserable experience of helplessly reliving his past understanding. Sisko seemed to sense his confusion, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “You can’t change the past,” he announced suddenly. Then more gently, “And you can’t keep trying to make up for it, either. You’re only running in place right now. You have to move forward, Damar, and assure that nothing like this _ever_ happens again.” His voice became a low rumble as his warning took on a grave tone. “Right now, Cardassia is hanging on the edge of a very deep chasm—one of its own making. And if it goes, it will thrash and claw at anything in reach, taking whatever it can into the darkness with it. You know it. First Minister Shakaar knows it. Even _Grand Nagus Rom_ knows it. Their help is as much about kindness and empathy as it is about self preservation. But if you fail, if Cardassia cannot manage to pull itself back from the edge, then all the good intentions in the universe won’t help you or them. What you did for your people during the war took a lot of courage. What you’re _going_ to do for them now will take tenacity. It’s going to take _will_. This is only the beginning; your people are weak and hungry, tired from war, and frightened by the compromises they’ve been forced to make in order to survive. It’s going to get a _lot_ worse as they begin to understand exactly what it is they’ve given up. You have to take control of the situation and bring Cardassia to bear under your banner, and yours alone. Before it’s too late.”

Damar shook his head. “I don’t—”

“You don’t want to be Dukat.” Sisko finished for him. “Then _don’t be_.”

It just wasn’t that simple, why couldn’t the captain see that? There was only a narrow path between deliverer and despot, and so many pitfalls along the way. Damar had already done the worst. How could he even think about standing before the Alpha Quadrant as a leader, asking for the trust and respect of his peers and his people, when he had committed heinous acts against so many?

“The first step is to stop using your past as an excuse for the present,” Sisko said, answering Damar’s unspoken question. “Try to learn from it, instead. You’ve done it once before. I’m confident you can do it again.”

“I didn’t kill Ziyal so I could become a _better man_ ,” Damar countered sarcastically under his breath.

“Killing Ziyal was a terrible, senseless act, you aren’t wrong about that. No one alive can absolve you of that crime, or the guilt you feel over it. But you only continue to wrong her by ignoring what was forged from that mistake.”

Damar frowned and turned away from the captain, only to find himself standing on Cardassia Prime, instead. The streets around him were whole, and the buildings untouched by indiscriminate bombardment. There were no pockmarks from Jem’Hadar rifle fire. “Where are we now?” he asked.

“Cardassia.”

“I know that, I meant—” Damar gave up halfway through his sentence and only shook his head. “Is this the past, or the future?” he asked instead, silently hoping it was the latter.

“That really depends on you,” Sisko said cryptically.

Damar cursed under his breath and turned on his heel to face the captain. “If you’ve been watching me all this time, then you must know I’ve been shot, stabbed, poisoned, and almost blown up more than once. I’m tired, Captain. I feel like I haven’t slept in months, and what little happiness I have in my life is… It’s very complicated. You’ve made your point. I know what I have to do. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to accomplish everything you expect of me, but I will try. After all, I came here, didn’t I? So what else could you possibly want?”

Sisko showed no reaction to the outburst. He sat on the bench, watching the thin wisps of clouds overhead as if he hadn’t a care in the world. After some time he looked at Damar and said, “What do _you_ want?”

The answer in Damar’s mind was swift and clear: _Kira_. Of course he wanted other things, too: Cardassia’s security, the health and prosperity of his people. But it was Kira who came to mind first, and she was what lingered the longest.

The captain smiled—a knowing, meaningful smile—and panic welled in Damar like bile rising in his throat. He started to speak, but Sisko’s heavy stare held him frozen in place, and he couldn’t seem to make his jaw work. So that was what the captain had been getting at. That was the other part of the lesson. Well, Damar decided, he wouldn’t do it. If there was even the smallest chance for the two of them, if Kira still cared for him at all, then he wouldn’t give up. His determination overtook Sisko’s piercing stare, and he suppressed the fear that was keeping him silent. “That isn’t an option,” he said firmly.

“What if I told you that what you have to do would be so much easier? Would it change your mind?”

Damar shook his head. She meant too much to him. _Everything_ , he realized with sudden and shocking clarity, and though he shied away from the thought at first, it became much more comfortable the longer he thought about it. Somehow, between all the anger and uncertainty, she had made herself a part of everything that meant the most to him. Whatever he had left was intrinsically tied to her influence. He wouldn’t let go of that unless he had no other choice.

Sisko’s smile broadened, and for the first time he seemed genuinely pleased by Damar’s answer. “Good,” he said. “In that case, I think we’re done here.”

That seemed far too easy. Damar shook his head. “The orb… I came here to—”

They were back on the station again. This time it was the Promenade, outside Quark’s. The familiar flashing lights blinked above the doorway, but there were no patrons inside, nor any crowds to impose on their conversation. The captain lingered beside him as they both watched the steady flash of pale gold light overhead. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sisko said quietly. “Just do your job, Damar. Do whatever you can to keep those terrible things from happening again.” He looked away from the lights, focusing on Damar. “And hold on to that determination. You may not understand how important it is now, but very soon it really is going to mean _everything_.”

  

*

 

Damar was sitting at the base of the altar when Kira and Kren found him. He was conscious, but it seemed that the orb had taken what strength he had, with little to spare. The candles in the room had all gone out at some point, but even in the low light Kira could see that he was exhausted. Realizing the same thing, Kren hurried to Damar’s side and pulled one of his arms over his own shoulder to help him up onto his feet.

“For once I’m glad you two never listen to me,” Damar said, slurring his words slightly. “I’ve been sitting here for an hour.”

“You did say not to disturb you,” Kren reminded him. His greater height left Damar standing on his toes, but the older Cardassian didn’t seem to notice.

Damar managed a small laugh at his own expense. It cost him most of his stability for the effort. “I’d love to know your criteria for which orders to obey and which to ignore,” he said, sagging slightly on Kren’s arm.

“Believe me, it took some convincing,” Kira said. “I spent two hours staring at the wall in Ops before I decided I wasn’t going to wait any longer.” When she saw Damar start to slip from Kren’s shoulder she rushed over and added herself to his other side, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Standing so close she could see the sweat soaking his collar and feel his chest rattle as he struggled for each breath. “We need to get you to the Infirmary.”

“No.” Damar shook his head and tried to pull away from them, but they held him still.

“I agree with the colonel,” Kren said firmly. He started to move all three of them in the direction of the door, ignoring Damar’s protests.

“Try to remember who employs you.”

“He does,” Kira said, “that’s why he’s doing it.”

Damar sighed and gave up resisting. Kira had a feeling it was as much to preserve his dignity as it was to hide that he didn’t have the strength to argue. Just before they reached the inner door to the shrine he started to fight again. “Wait,” he said. “Beam me there, at least. I don’t want to be seen on the Promenade like this.”

Kira and Kren exchanged glances, and then she reached up to tap her commbadge. “Kira to Ops.”

_“Go ahead, Colonel,”_ Ensign Ross answered.

“Tell Doctor Bashir to prepare to receive a patient, and then beam Legate Damar and his head of security directly to the Infirmary.”

_“Right away, sir.”_

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Kira said. She released Damar and stepped away from the two men. To Kren she instructed, “Make sure he doesn’t give the doctor any trouble.”

Kren smiled and hefted Damar a little higher. He looked like a merchant carrying a sack of goods. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line,” he said cheerfully. “Not much fight in him right now, anyway.”

Damar only had time to roll his eyes before he and Kren were whisked away by the transporter beam. Once they were gone, Kira took a quick look around the shrine, lingering for a moment on the orb tucked away in its closed box before setting out to join them.

By the time she made it through the crowds on the Promenade and cleared away the gawkers standing around outside the Infirmary, Damar was already out of his own clothes and dressed in a patient’s shirt and pants. He was lying on a biobed in the back room, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at each of the nurses whenever they passed by. He had a blanket over his legs, and his expression could only be described as one of pure, righteous indignation. He spotted Kira and his frown momentarily softened, only to return when Julian joined them.

“Ah, Colonel,” Julian greeted her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“How is he?” Kira asked, trying to keep her voice down so Damar couldn't overhear.

“He’s a little dehydrated, and as you no doubt noticed he’s physically exhausted from the experience, but apart from that he seems fine. Although he is showing signs of unusually elevated adrenal activity. It’s not harmful at this point, but it could be a sign of something more serious. I’d like to keep him here for observation, at least until tonight. It will also give me a chance to run some follow-up tests from his last visit.”

“I said no,” Damar objected in the background.

“Whatever you need to do,” Kira said. “If he argues, just tell Kren.”

Julian glanced at Kren, hovering like a biomechanical gargoyle along the far wall. “Very well,” he said, sounding less than certain of her wisdom.

Kira nodded to where Damar lay on the biobed. “If you don’t mind, Doctor, I’d like to speak to him alone.”

Julian obliged her request without argument, leaving the room with two of his Bajoran nurses in tow. Kren excused himself and followed them a moment later. When they were finally alone, Kira approached Damar’s beside. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better,” Damar said with a sigh of relief. He let his head fall back against the pillow. “Though I’m sure I would have been fine if you had just let me go back to my quarters,” he complained. “Doctor Bashir is far too anxious to run those tests of his.”

“He’s just looking out for your health.”

“You mean he’s looking out for his next submission to the _Starfleet Medical Journal_ ,” Damar said bitterly. He gathered some of the blanket in his hands. The cloth stretched and creaked between his fingers, fighting as he pulled it taut. “With everything that’s happened… And the orb... I just want to rest. I need time to process it all— _before_ someone starts poking and prodding at me in the name of advancing medical science.”

“What _did_ you see?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember all of it. I didn’t realize forgetting was an option.”

Kira nodded. She knew all too well how disorienting an orb experience could be, especially the first time. “In that case,” she said, “when you want to— _if_ you want to—I’d like to hear about it. But for now I’ll leave you to rest.”

Damar grabbed her arm. He was so weak that she barely felt his grip. “Don’t go. Not yet,” he said. “I know things didn’t end under the best circumstances last time, but if you would just stay for a little while longer...”

It occurred to her then that they hadn’t yet spoken about the night before—which she imagined might not even _be_ the night before anymore, not for Damar. She had spent so much time going over it with herself and preparing what she would say that actually saying it hadn’t even crossed her mind. “About that…” she began, but Damar interrupted.

“Kira—”

“It’s not what you think,” she reassured him quickly. “I wanted to apologize.”

Damar seemed caught between his natural tendency toward suspicion and his desire to hear what she had to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and when nothing came of that, he folded his hands in his lap and simply said, “Alright.”

Kira started to speak, but stopped when she found that she also had trouble finding a place to start. Planning what she wanted to say didn’t actually make saying it any easier, as it turned out. Even taking his uncharacteristic silence into account she still felt awkward trying to explain herself to him. To anyone, really. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” she said.

“I don’t think we would have the problems we do if either of us were particularly gifted at expressing our feelings,” Damar observed dryly.

“You’re probably right,” she said. “We really know how to complicate something simple, don't we?”

Damar shrugged and offered her a smile of his own. He seemed more at ease than she expected, more at peace with everything that had happened between them now that he knew they weren’t about to go their separate ways. “I don’t mind,” he said. “It keeps things interesting.”

She couldn’t help but agree. Deciding then to forgo the rest of what she had intended to say, Kira cut right to the point. She leaned over Damar, placing one hand gently on his shoulder. With the other cupped the side of his face to turn him toward her, kissing him as gently as she could manage and trying to avoid setting off any of the monitors Bashir had placed on him. After lingering a moment she drew back again and said, “I’m sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad you're here. I'm glad _I'm_ here.”

Kira cocked her head to the side. “I expected you to gloat when I apologized.”

“I’m a little surprised myself.”

“Colonel, you should come out here,” Julian interrupted, calling from the front room.

“I’m certain we can ignore him if you’d like to continue,” Damar said, pulling her into another kiss. If he could have managed it, Kira was sure he would have made an effort to talk her into the biobed with him as well.

Kren stomped into the room before he could try, oblivious to the intimate scene before him. “There’s some kind of uproar out on the Promenade,” he said. “It’s the Bajorans.”

All thoughts of continuing the private exchange disappeared then. Kira dropped everything and hurried from the room, a million thoughts racing through her mind as she made her way to the Infirmary door. As she drew closer she could see what Kren was talking about; people were definitely in an uproar—not rioting, as she had feared, but _celebrating_. She stepped out onto the Promenade and was almost immediately grabbed by Vedek Lanta, who seemed more excited than she’d ever seen him. He was practically shaking.

“He’s back!” the vedek shouted above the cheers and cries of celebration. “He has returned!”

Prying herself out of his eager grip, Kira demanded, “ _Who?_ ”

Lanta released her and raised his arms in supplication to the Prophets. “The Emissary!”

  

*

 

“No one’s come right out and said it, but quite a few people seem to think you had a hand in it. Even I find myself wondering at the timing.”

Damar covered his face with his palm and sighed. That was the last thing he needed. “The Council of Ministers?”

“They’ve granted your request. Unconditionally, in fact,” Shakaar said. “None of them seem able to remember who raised an objection in the first place.” He did little to hide his amusement, which only annoyed Damar that much more.

“And Captain Sisko?”

“From what I’m told he’s going to remain on Bajor. For the time being, anyway. I understand he’s met with the Kai already, and Nerys tells me he spoke with Starfleet Command last night. If you’d like me to put you in touch with him—”

“No,” Damar said quickly. “I’ve had enough of that, thank you.”

Shakaar was quiet, and his smile disappeared. After some time he said, “So, it _was_ you.”

Damar shook his head. “I very much doubt that Benjamin Sisko would choose to come back on my behalf,” he said. Under his breath he added, “Making my life easier doesn’t seem to be of any great concern to the good captain.”

“I wouldn’t rush to deny your involvement,” Shakaar countered. “It’s proven to be quite a boon to your cause. And Nerys is beaming from ear to ear, I’d wager you can do no wrong right about now.”

Damar suppressed a smile; he had eventually explained the whole story to her, after his release from Bashir’s clutches. She knew Sisko better than to believe Damar had been responsible for his return, but her joy—both personal and spiritual—was obvious nevertheless. He took some comfort in that, regardless of how he felt about the mistaken impression everyone else seemed to have on the matter. “I’m glad the colonel is pleased by Captain Sisko’s return,” he said, trying to sound as dispassionate as possible.

They were alone in Damar’s quarters, and Shakaar seemed to decide that offered him a perfect opportunity to finally drop all pretense between them. He rolled his eyes and sighed at the ceiling before turning on Damar. “Drop the act,” he snapped. “I know about the two of you.”

Damar froze in place. “How?” he managed after a moment of fight-or-flight inspired panic.

“She told me.”

“Wh— _why?!_ ”

Shakaar shrugged. “You tell me. I’d have been much happier not knowing, I promise you.”

It was an extremely uncomfortable situation, to say the least. Shakaar was in a position to make things very difficult for Damar and his administration if he wanted to. And yet, at a glance, nothing about him spoke of anger. He just seemed exasperated. “Is it going to be a problem?” Damar asked carefully. Insinuating that the leader of another world—and he even dared to hope an _ally—_ would take political revenge for a personal grudge wasn’t the wisest maneuver he’d made in his career, but he needed to know.

“It’s funny,” Shakaar said, “she asked me the same thing. And I told her what I’m going to tell you: I’d never jeopardize the wellbeing of my people for some petty jealousy. It’s in our best interests to be at peace with our closest neighbors. Besides that, I would never presume to tell Nerys who she could see romantically. I value my safety. But I don’t have to pretend that I’m happy about it.”

Damar could understand that, at least. Still. “That’s a relief,” he muttered. He was in no condition to square off against an adversary that already outmatched him to begin with.

The first minister hummed in agreement and turned back to the window. Before either of them could say anything else on the subject the door chimed, simultaneously saving Damar from the most uncomfortable conversation he’d had to endure yet, and announcing the return of his security party. Kren entered, followed closely by Nelara and Kira. The sudden commotion did an excellent job of eliminating any sign of the tension that had formed between the two men, although Damar could have done without a room full of people who knew, one way or another, about his relationship. He smiled covertly at Kira when he caught her eye, and she returned a quick, careful smile of her own.

“We’ve finished our sweep of the _Ranat_ , and Nelara’s been over the other ships with Starfleet Security,” Kren informed him. “Whenever you’re ready, we can depart.”

“Other ships?” Damar asked. He’d heard nothing of additional ships accompanying them on the trip back to Cardassia. Of course, given Kren’s way of doing things, that wasn’t nearly as surprising as it should have been.

Kira nodded over her shoulder. “The _Ya’Vang_ and the _Jemison_ will escort you to the border of Cardassian space, accompanied by three Bajoran cruisers, which I’ll be commanding from the _Lhovol_. We’ll stay with you after your own ships take over and follow you all the way to Cardassia Prime.”

“That’s going to be quite a sight,” Shakaar noted.

Sour despite the uplifting end to his mission—and Kira’s surprising announcement that she would be joining him for the journey home—Damar frowned at the floor. “It seems ridiculous that I need so much security just to return to my own planet.”

“That’s our cue that it’s time to leave,” Kren announced. He ignored Damar’s angry glare. “After you, sir.”

“Just a moment.” Shakaar stopped the procession before it could begin, motioning Damar over to the window for one last, private exchange. When they were next to each other he leaned in and said, just above a whisper, “We're allies now, and despite everything I do like you. But I want you to know that if you _ever_ do anything to hurt her, once _she’s_ done with you, I will have you scaled like a fish.”

Damar nodded and cleared his throat. “That’s incredibly graphic,” he muttered in reply.

“ _Mm_.” Shakaar clapped him on the back affectionately, making Damar stumble forward a step. “Shall we?” he asked, turning back to the others with a deceptively charming smile.

Kira seemed pleased. Damar imagined that they must have looked like the very picture of camaraderie and diplomatic goodwill. “You’re coming with us?” she asked Shakaar.

“Well, my ship is scheduled to depart just before yours. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t say farewell to Bajor’s new ally and very _good_ friend.”

Kren and Nelara fell in step behind them, and together with Shakaar and Kira, Damar stepped out into the hallway following another line of armed security. As they passed the doorway his hand grazed the back of Kira’s, and she brushed her fingertips across his palm. A small gesture, quick and easily lost in all the movement, but it was everything to him.


	5. Chapter 5

With the corridor finally cleared of the departing Bajoran dignitaries, and now occupied only by Kira, Nog, and a smiling Doctor Bashir, Damar nodded his own farewell and climbed the short steps to the _Ranat’s_ open hatch. Kira promptly followed, and Damar paused halfway through to turn and regard her curiously. “I think you’re forgetting which ship is yours, Colonel,” he said.  
  
“I thought I’d take a look before we departed. I am commanding the Bajoran wing of your escort, after all. Don’t you think I should familiarize myself with the layout of your vessel?”  
  
Behind her, Bashir and Nog had already wandered off, and they seemed engaged in an animated discussion of their own that left them oblivious to the exchange taking place behind them. Damar swiveled back around to cast a look at Kren, who shook his head and spread his good arm wide to welcome Kira aboard. “Watch your step,” Kren said as she strolled past. His eyes were on Damar until she had cleared the airlock and boarded the ship, but Damar took great pains to avoid meeting his gaze directly. “The ship’s been swept twice by my men, so I’ll let you conduct a quick tour for the colonel. But I wouldn’t take too long. We’re scheduled to depart following the first minister’s ship,” he added. With that he took position by the airlock, turning away from the couple as they made their way toward the aft cabins.  
  
“Not much to look at anymore, is it,” Kira mused as she passed a long room that had once been individual crew quarters. The inner bulkheads were stripped, creating a cavernous space that had been hastily converted into the crew’s mess. “Do you have your own quarters, or do you share with everyone else?”  
  
Damar gestured to the end of the passageway, and the single door that led to his small room. It had belonged to the ship’s commander before he came aboard, but the officer was quick to offer it to Damar, and wouldn’t hear any refusal. “I suppose there are some benefits to being a public servant,” he said.  
  
Kira lifted her hand from the battered wall plating and grimaced at the fine coating of rust on her palm. “Not many.”  
  
They reached Damar’s quarters and he tapped the release to open the door, almost immediately setting upon Kira and backing her into the room, where he pressed her to the wall. He slipped a hand into her hair while he kissed her passionately, holding her close with his other arm tight around her back. “You already know the layout of a _Galor_ ,” he whispered against her parted lips. “And I’m almost certain Kren knows that.” He sighed, pleased by the turn of events, and said, “I wish you were coming with me.”  
  
“I am,” she reminded him.  
  
“You know what I meant. There’s no reason you can’t beam over once we’re underway, is there?”  
  
Kira laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her touch made Damar’s skin prickle with excitement. “I think someone might notice if I’m not aboard my own ship,” she said. “We’ll have to settle for these few minutes.”  
  
“And then—?”  
  
She looked up. “Then?”  
  
“The last time I left for Cardassia things seemed fine.” He looked away, remembering how awkward things had been upon his return to the station. “Or I thought they were.”  
  
“And you think I’m going to change my mind again the second you set foot on Cardassia?”  
  
It did sound paranoid, and Damar wouldn’t have blamed her if she felt offended by the suggestion, but he couldn’t shake how similar it felt to the last time. Things had seemed to be going well then, too. “I’m... worried,” he said, turning back from his examination of everywhere Kira wasn’t.  
  
She peered at him from beneath heavy lashes with a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “You’re worried,” she repeated, and then she pulled him close. With a mischievous smile that was all at once alluring and alarming, she said, “ _Maybe_ I can do something about that.” Her hand slipped under his jacket, seeking bare skin before diving down, sliding over his soft stomach and the harder scales that curved over his hips. Damar gasped as her fingers wrapped around his rapidly hardening length. She squeezed gently, pulling just enough to draw him forward a bit more. “What does this do for you?” she asked.  
  
Damar breathed out a long, low sound that was half groan, half sigh. He watched Kira’s hand disappear into his clothes, her wrist sliding in and out of the dark, diamond-patterned fabric as she stroked him slowly. Once he might have expected someone like Kira—someone who had lived rough for so long—to have rough hands, but that wasn’t so at all. They were warm and soft, and she went out of her way to slide her smooth fingertips over the two rows of sensitive scales that lined the underside of his cock. When she leaned in and put her lips to his neck, Damar bit back a moan and tightened his hold on her. His throat grew tight, and breathing felt twice as difficult as he’d ever recalled it to be, but each time she pushed her hand back down he managed a ragged gasp and a sound he hoped would encourage her to continue. “Just like that,” he said in a rush. “A bit tighter, _right there_ —” The rest of what he had intended to say was lost in a tangle of undignified sounds and the impact of his fist hitting the wall as he let go of Kira’s waist and shifted his weight to his outstretched arm. He was so close to the edge, and telling her how to improve what she was apparently _very_ good at already had only backfired on him.  
  
“I told you before, _no one else but you,_ ” she reminded him in a quiet, but intense whisper. “Just you.” She punctuated the last part by sliding her free hand around his backside and gripping tight.  
  
The echo of what he had urged her to say the last time they were together had the dual effect of underscoring Damar’s already significant arousal and sending his emotions into a complete tailspin. He was simultaneously overjoyed at the way she had chosen to share her own feelings, and desperate to reach his climax before he said something in his euphoria that might make her change her mind. Some very tempting but potentially disastrous things came bubbling to the surface riding the building pressure, and Damar bit his tongue to keep from saying them.  
  
Suddenly Nelara’s voice cut through the gasps and heavy breathing, and over Damar’s stuttering attempts to keep from making a fool of himself. “I’ve received word that First Minister Shakaar’s ship is ready to— _Oh!_ ” she exclaimed with more emotion than Damar had heard from her in several months. “I’m—I’m sorry!”  
  
Damar couldn’t bring himself to turn, but every centimeter of Kira’s body that had been touching his suddenly retracted, and she moved aside so fast that Damar nearly fell against the wall. “That’s _fine,_ ” he said, rather more forcefully than he intended. “Thank you.”  
  
Beside him, Kira was watching some invisible spot on the floor with remarkable intensity, and she didn’t look up until Nelara excused herself. Once she was gone, Damar finally turned around. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “If it’s any comfort, I don’t think she talks to anyone else but me. When she talks at all.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Kira said. “I suppose people were bound to find out eventually.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s no longer a secret,” Damar agreed. “To the great disappointment of some, no doubt.” He thought of Captain Sisko, who had obviously apprised himself of the details of their relationship. Sisko, like Kren, had warned Damar of the trouble that it would cause, and hinted at a more difficult road ahead for the two of them. Unlike the older Cardassian, however, the captain had not only accepted Damar’s refusal to give up for the sake of convenience, but he actually seemed to approve of it.  
  
Watching Kira as she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, Damar held out an arm to invite her close again, and she took him up on his offer. This time they only held each other, standing together quietly in the short time they had left. He wanted to believe that he would see her again soon, but neither of them could make any definite promises. Not in the hope of remaining honest with one another. For the time being, this would have to be enough.  
  
  
  
  
They had been underway for several hours when Nelara worked up the nerve to make another appearance. For once she announced herself _before_ entering his quarters, despite knowing that Kira was aboard a different ship. Damar looked up from the padd he’d been reading and nodded to her. She seemed unusually agitated—not that he could blame her, given what had happened earlier. Anyone might be rattled by that. “What can I do for you?” he asked.  
  
“Sir, Kren has asked me to inform you that we’ve made an adjustment to our original heading. It will move our arrival at the rendezvous point up by four hours, but he believes it’s a safer course.”  
  
“I assume he’s not asking, but informing me of this.”  
  
She nodded. “He’s already communicated the change to the other ships.”  
  
Clearly this was Kren’s way of voicing his displeasure with Damar’s decision to ignore his advice. In a moment of inspired pettiness Damar briefly considered sending Nelara back to the bridge with a message of his own, but then he decided she had already been through enough for one day.  
  
After Nelara left again, Damar tried to return to what he had been reading, but the words no longer held his interest. He had been in a relatively good mood when they left the station, having pushed all thoughts of the warning from Sisko out of his mind. Despite its vaguely positive reception, the fact that the captain had deemed the issue serious enough to say anything at all made him wonder. It had taken several hours, and the time he spent alone with Kira, to stop himself from dwelling on it. Eventually he’d been able to put it from his mind and focus solely on her. Kira wanted to be with him, she wanted _him_ , and as a result his resolve was twice what it had been before. If a man with the power to make Damar relive his own past couldn’t change that, Kren’s passive-aggressive gestures had little hope of success.  
  
The overhead comm chimed, and Damar set the forgotten padd aside. “Go ahead,” he said.  
  
_“Legate Damar, you have a transmission from Colonel Kira aboard the_ Lhovol _. Shall I put it through to your quarters?”_  
  
Damar rolled his eyes. Where _else_ was he supposed to take it? There were two other rooms on the whole damned ship. “Yes,” he said, trying not to sound too frustrated with the officer, and only belatedly adding, “Thank you,” before the channel closed.  
  
A moment later Kira appeared on the screen to his left, smiling from inside what Damar assumed was her own cabin. He couldn’t imagine she would have dared to contact him privately otherwise. _“Hello again,”_ she said.  
  
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Not that I’m complaining. Is everything alright?”  
  
_“Fine here. Some chatter, but nothing to worry about.”_  
  
“Chatter?”  
  
_“Like I said,”_ she repeated, a little less casually this time, _“it’s nothing to worry about.”_  
  
Damar wondered if her fellow crewmen were bothered by their lengthy trip to Cardassia and back, or the purpose—and maybe even the person—behind it. The look Kira was giving him said the matter was closed, however, and so he grudgingly let it go and changed the topic. “In that case, what can I do for you?”  
  
_“I wanted to talk,”_ she said.  
  
That put him on immediate alert. He started to sit up, but Kira put her hands out and gestured him back down. _“Stop assuming the worst all the time!”_  
  
“I’m accustomed to assuming the worst, and so far it’s worked out well for me. What did you want to talk about?”  
  
_“About us. About each other. I think… if we’re going to do this, maybe we should have more than mostly bad memories to start from. Don't you?”_  
  
That did seem like a sensible idea to him. After all, the sum total of their time together weighed far heavier on the side of things they would probably both rather forget. “Where would you like to begin?” he asked, making himself more comfortable in his seat.  
  
_“Well, this might be a little forward but—”_  
  
“I have a hard time believing that would stop you.”  
  
Kira frowned and waited for him to stop grinning at his own joke. _“I just wanted to know, was it spontaneous? What happened between us, I mean. Or did you have some sort of feelings before—were you acting on something that was already there?”_  
  
That was not the sort of casual curiosity Damar had been expecting, and it left him too stunned to answer at first. Telling Kira that he had had a passing—and entirely physical—attraction to her as far back as their time together aboard the station was not something he’d ever planned for. Nor did he wish to explain it to her now, but it seemed there was little choice left in the matter. She watched, her patient stare losing some of its bright glimmer as the seconds ticked away and it became increasingly obvious that he was stalling. “I…” he began, only to snap his mouth shut again.  
  
Kira seemed to understand regardless of his silence. _“Oh,”_ she said quietly. _“When?”_  
  
“Is it really necessary to be that thorough?”  
  
She shook her head. _“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”_  
  
Damar kneaded his brow ridges with his fingers and nodded, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you,” he sighed.  
  
_“Is there anything you want to ask me?”_  
  
He started to shake his head, but then something occurred to him: Kira had brought up the subject on her own, without any prompting. Was she thinking of something that had piqued her curiosity? How amusing it would have been, to learn that they had both harbored an interest in one another while they were still bitter enemies. “Were you ever…?” he asked.  
  
_“No.”_  
  
A small sound caught in the back of Damar’s throat, and he stared at her through the screen. “Not at all?”  
  
_“I hated you.”_  
  
“But—I just told you—”  
  
_“And that’s very flattering, really,”_ she chuckled, _“but it doesn’t change anything. I_ really _hated you. You were arrogant and rude, and the way you talked—”_  
  
“Alright,” he snapped, face in his hand again. “I get the point.”  
  
Kira bunched her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. _“Sorry. I guess maybe we should take this as a sign to leave_ all _of the past in the past.”_  
  
Damar nodded and let his hand drop to the arm of the chair. “That might be wise,” he said.  
  
_“Here’s something I’ve been wondering: where are you living?”_ she continued, clearly unperturbed by the results of the previous question, or Damar’s reaction to it. _“I understand the capital is still in pretty bad shape.”_  
  
This was a subject he felt far more comfortable discussing, even if it didn’t carry the potential reward of revealing something more significant to their relationship. “Well, I spent the first three weeks after my return home living in a Federation aid facility,” he said. “Only slightly more luxurious than Moren’s farm.”  
  
_“You must have enjoyed that.”_  
  
“Oh, yes,” he said, rolling his eyes at the memory. “Though, I will give Starfleet their due, they are incredibly efficient in the aftermath of a crisis. Had our fortunes been reversed, I imagine Earth would still be a smoldering ruin. We Cardassians don’t tend to care for our vanquished foes quite so generously.”  
  
Kira looked away from the screen, and Damar cursed quietly under his breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”  
  
_“No, I understand,”_ she said quickly, her voice tight despite the reassurance. _“There’s no right way to deal with that when it’s your home. I know. Sometimes it’s just easier to tell a few jokes and pretend it’s not real. I know you didn’t mean… Anyway,”_ she shook her head, appearing to free herself of the unpleasantness of the subject at the same time. _“You still haven’t answered my question. Where are you staying now?”_  
  
“It’s an abandoned home we located in one of the exterior capital districts,” he said. “Actually, we suspect it’s an old Obsidian Order safe house.”  
  
_“Really? What makes you think that?”_  
  
Damar smiled at the memory of the first few times they had attempted to gain access to the house. “Well, Kren nearly died attempting to sweep the grounds for hazards, and it’s running on a power source independent of the municipal grid. In fact, the home is one of only two structures with a functioning security system left within fifty kilometers of the capital. The other is the remains of the Order’s headquarters. Once we realized that, things sort of fell into place.”  
  
_“The Order's headquarters is still standing? You could have just lived there,”_ Kira suggested.  
  
“It’s currently being used as a shelter by several dozen homeless families. Although it was anything like what we encountered, I can't imagine how many former residents the building has seen. And anyhow, Kren seemed to think it was safer for me to be away from the city center. Who knows why, of course. He never tells me anything.”  
  
She smiled. _“You two argue a lot, don’t you?”_  
  
“Is it that obvious? Kren claims to support me, but he has an interesting way of going about it. Unless he just never learned that support is meant to be a _positive_ action.”  
  
_“Sometimes support means telling you when you’re wrong.”_  
  
Damar would have argued that point, but it came dangerously close to touching on the warning both Kren and Captain Sisko had given him. Though he had told Kira nearly everything about his encounter with the captain during his orb experience, that was a detail he’d opted to leave out, in addition to Kren’s unsolicited opinion on their relationship. “I could accept that if it came with the condition of occasionally agreeing with me.”  
  
_“He certainly doesn’t stand on formality with you. Where did you even find him?”_ she asked. _“I can’t imagine him stomping around Cardassia without attracting some attention. Was he already working with Starfleet?”_  
  
Damar shook his head. “No, although I think they would have preferred if I had picked my security from the candidates they vetted for me. Actually, both he and Nelara came to me. I chose Kren because of his experience and the way he spoke of his desire for Cardassia’s reconciliation with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant. It was the sort of talk that could have earned him a prison sentence in the past, and I found his candor refreshing—at the time. I chose Nelara because she had no one else.”

He still remembered her underwhelming interview, and the way she stared at the floor while he and his Federation handlers sifted through what remained of the central archives, looking for her files. When they found none, Damar was advised to send her on her way. But something about how she seemed more at ease when she was being ignored caught his attention. He was almost certain Nelara had been an outcast, one of the many undesirables living on the fringes of Cardassian society. Perhaps she was an orphan who had been fortunate enough to survive into early adulthood, or someone’s illegitimate offspring. Whatever her past, she had obviously grown up accustomed to unpleasant reactions from those around her. That was just the sort of thing Damar had hoped to change with his administration. And so, ignoring the urging of his Starfleet advisors, he took her in. She’d been with him ever since. “One of Cardassia’s forgotten,” he continued. After a pause he said, “I had so many plans. Then reality conspired with necessity, complicating matters until I was forced to set them all aside. Bringing her onto my team was something I could do that made an immediate impact. It may not have been the sweeping reforms I had concocted during my stay in the Bajoran hospital, but it was something. Sometimes it seems as though all that’s left is a small victory. It’s just… What do you mean, _the way I talked?_ ”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“You’re in a good mood,” Kren observed dryly. “I take it you’re happy to be home.”  
  
Damar chuckled to himself. If that was what Kren wanted to believe, he wouldn’t argue. He was certain the man could piece things together for himself if he really wanted to. “When can we expect the Council of Ministers to forward the first draft of the trade settlement from Bajor?” he asked, ignoring the question.  
  
“They’re sending a courier. I thought Nelara told you?”  
  
It suddenly occurred to Damar that he hadn’t seen his assistant since she beamed down to the surface with the first half of the security team. That sort of thing wasn’t unusual for her; she often disappeared for hours, only to pop back up just when she was needed. It seemed in keeping with the rest of her aloof personality, so he never gave it much thought. “I suppose she might have assumed I already knew. Have you arranged accommodations for the courier?”  
  
“I think it’s best if they remain on their ship.”  
  
“That isn’t very friendly of us.”  
  
“Neither is letting them get shot,” Kren said. “We can’t secure much outside of this residence right now, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to let a Bajoran linger alone on the surface, even with an armed escort. And that doesn’t look very friendly, either.”  
  
Damar sighed; he kept expecting more of the small progress he had made, but Bajor’s generosity couldn’t erase decades of bad blood. It had been so much easier to forget the gulf between their people when he was aboard the station, sharing his bed and his time with Kira. Even Shakaar was pleasant enough, in his own way. Threats of violence notwithstanding. The Council of Ministers had been gruelling, but in hindsight they were no worse than he should have expected. Perhaps it was the success of his mission that made things seem so much better than they really were—maybe it was the time he had spent reliving his past, when everything else was so much worse. “Alright,” he said. “Let the courier choose. If they wish to remain in orbit, we will respect that. Otherwise, they are welcome to stay here as my personal guest.”  
  
“I have to advise against that. There’s no telling if they can be trusted, and—”  
  
“You can handle _one_ person, can’t you?” Damar asked. He considered asking if the Bajoran government could send Kira, but he dismissed the idea almost as quickly. That would be a little too obvious.  
  
Kren was silent, and Damar enjoyed the brief absence of an unsolicited hand trying to guide his every move. “I don’t know why you bother to keep me around if you’re so determined to ignore everything I say,” he eventually muttered under his breath, disrupting the pleasant silence.  
  
Damar pushed back from his desk and turned in his chair, ready to fire off a quick response to one more act of insubordination. If the man was so tired of his constant interference going unheeded, then he was welcome to resign, and simplify matters for the both of them. But instead of the stubborn soldier who dogged his every move with criticism, when Damar looked up he found a war-weary old man who seemed on the verge of giving up without any invitation at all. He felt a strange need to be kind then, when he’d been prepared to put Kren in his place only a moment before. “I won’t be assassinated in my own home by a messenger,” he said. “You yourself said that these attempts on my life were random and amateur. Scattered, dissatisfied elements that will go away on their own in time. Don’t you think it would take a great deal more than that to effectively infiltrate the Bajoran government?”  
  
“That’s what I thought before they managed to sneak a bomb aboard the decoy _Galor_. It was just luck that we thought to switch you to another ship. We still haven’t identified the perpetrators behind that attack, and we’d be fools to think they’re just going to give up now.”  
  
“But even those you’ve caught have all been regular Cardassian citizens up to now. Not trained killers. Not skilled operatives.”  
  
Kren shook his head. “They never talk. I’ve interrogated every one of them, and they never tell me anything…”  
  
“What is there to tell? They’ve been conditioned not to resist our justice system, or even offer a defense.” Damar thought about it and scoffed at his inappropriate use of the word “justice” to describe the farce that his people had long considered a system of law. “You said there was no link between any of them.”  
  
“What if I was wrong?”  
  
But Damar had already turned back to his work. “Things will calm down once the shipments start to arrive from Bajor,” he said confidently.  
  
Kren cursed under his breath and he slammed his open palm down on the desk. “You are risking _everything_ on this.”  
  
“By this,” Damar said, “you mean…?”  
  
“You know exactly what I mean.”  
  
Damar turned his chair again. He hooked one knee over the other and leaned back, folding his fingers in his lap. “I see. So that’s what you’re really getting at. This isn’t about security at all.”  
  
“No, it is. It’s all part of the same problem. I know how you feel about her, but—”  
  
“You _think_ you know.”  
  
“I know!” Kren shouted suddenly. “I know that you pushed for that conference _just_ so you could suggest the station, and you dragged all of us there despite the risks involved in leaving Cardassia right now. I know that you spent hours talking to her on the way back here, even though you both know how easily your communications could be intercepted. I know that you’ve been thinking of ways to see her again, and that you’ll engineer something if you have to, just to get her here or send yourself there.” He leaned down, gripping the arms of Damar’s chair so he could meet his eyes directly. “I know,” he said slowly,” that you’re so in love with her you would risk letting the entire Cardassian Union fall apart if it only meant being with her for more than a few hours.”  
  
Damar shot out of his chair, forcing Kren to stand up quickly to avoid being knocked backwards. “You have _no right!_ ”  
  
“When the Cardassian people find out about her they’ll lose all confidence in you. All the new policies you’ve enacted, all the concessions you’ve signed to foreign powers—they won’t be the sacrifices made by a good leader desperate to set his people on the right course at any cost. They’ll be the treachery of a weak man seeking to appease his Bajoran whore. Don’t you understand what you’re _doing?_ ”  
  
“How _dare_ you call her—”  
  
“ _They’ll_ call her that! Some of the men already suspect, and I can’t stop them from talking. I can’t protect you from yourself. You have to end this, now!”  
  
Damar took a step back and lowered himself back into the chair. He resumed his earlier posture, eyeing Kren coolly over his steepled fingers. “Your presence is no longer required here, Parlan Kren. Out of respect for your service to me and to the Union, I’ll give you the option to leave on your own and preserve your dignity,” he said. “If you refuse, I’ll have someone remove you from the premises.”  
  
Kren spat on the ground before Damar’s chair. “You’re a fool.”  
  
“So I’ve been told.”  
  
Flexing his mechanical hand a few times, Kren finally backed down and stomped off. At the door he turned to Damar and said, “You know, it’s not just you who’ll end up paying the price for this indiscretion. And it’s not just Cardassia. It’s her, too.”  
  
Damar eyed Kren coolly from his chair. “Is that a threat?”  
  
“Call it a premonition,” Kren muttered. He slammed the door panel with his good hand and stormed out into the hall. In his absence the sudden silence was almost more obtrusive than the shouting.  
  
After taking a moment to gather his thoughts and calm himself, Damar turned to his personal comm and tapped the black and teal glass panel. “Find Nelara,” he said to whomever was on the other end. “Now.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“We’re making good time right now. I don’t see any reason to increase our speed.”  
  
“I understand, it’s just…”  
  
Kira smiled patiently at the young officer. “You’d like to get out of Cardassian space as soon as possible, right?” she asked. “I understand. But there’s really nothing to worry about.”  
  
Although the officer still seemed apprehensive, he nodded and returned to his station nevertheless. From the corner of her eye Kira could see him stealing quick glances at the sensor station to his right, probably watching for approaching ships. She didn’t doubt that many of the crew felt much like the first lieutenant—they weren’t far from the border, but anything on the wrong side of the line would feel too far from safety for some of them. It wasn’t very long ago that three Bajoran ships alone in Cardassian space would make an incredibly tempting target. But times changed, and the rules changed with them; Bajorans weren’t such easy prey anymore.  
  
“Sixteen hours until we cross into Bajoran space,” the helmsman announced. Some of the tension eased then, but not all of it. The first lieutenant still glanced at the sensor panel, and the bridge still felt as silent as a shrine, but it was a reprieve of sorts. At least it would only last another sixteen hours. Unless some of them had already convinced themselves they would be chased across the border by imaginary ships.  
  
As if the Cardassian Union had any to spare.  
  
A faint but insistent beep sounded from the sensor station, and Kira turned toward the officer plucking away at his panel. He hit one last button and said, “Colonel Kira, long range sensors detect a ship approaching on an intercept course.” He retrieved new information as the computer finished processing the rest of the readings. “The vessel is Cardassian.”  
  
Despite her own assurances to the crew, something about the situation ignited a wave of apprehension in her, and she found herself itching to order the shields raised and the weapons readied. But that wasn't acceptable; Bajor and Cardassia were allies. Maybe not officially, but they were getting there, and treating an approaching Cardassian ship like a threat would do nothing but hinder the progress of peace. “Continue on our current heading,” she ordered the helmsman. When the woman turned around she asked, “Is there a problem?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
Every ship in the Cardassian fleet was accounted for and tightly controlled, Kira knew that. They couldn’t afford to risk their remaining forces, and nothing but a battle cruiser posed any significant threat to the three small ships. “What type of ship is it?” she asked out of reflex, ignoring the voice that said it was unwise to let herself get carried away by the paranoia of her crew.  
  
“... _Galor_ -class, sir. They’ll be in visual range in 22 seconds.”  
  
All eyes on the bridge were upon her, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, Kira had no idea what to do.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
While Damar waited for Nelara to make her way up to his office, he watched the city outside through the large window behind his desk. The lights that dotted the skyline were faint in the fading twilight, flickering in and out of the darkness as it swallowed the city. If he stared long enough he could almost make out the newest housing structures among the broken buildings.  
  
Some years ago he had sat staring through a window at an evening much like the one settling over the region now. He had watched the city sparkling on the horizon, and it filled him with pride. That night the countless lights had seemed to burn brighter than some suns, illuminating the streets and spires to light up the capital of their great empire.  
  
The Dominion had taken that away. They had plunged the Cardassian Union into darkness through wanton destruction and rampant slaughter, but they hadn’t managed to extinguish its light entirely. There were flickers left among the ruins, and they could be coaxed back to full brightness in time. He would see to that, as Captain Sisko had insisted. And he would do it with Kira’s help. Kren regarded her influence as a weakness, a dangerous liability that could turn the people against him. To Damar she was strength, and he would be damned if he was going to sacrifice that for the comfort of one man who couldn’t see how much her support meant—for Damar _and_ for Cardassia. Holding on to Kira did not have to mean sacrificing the well being of the Union. Kren was a fool if he couldn’t see that.  
  
Unfortunately, loath as he was to admit it, the old man _was_ right about how urgently Damar desired her, and how much he wanted her near him. He would have begged her to return to Cardassia with him if he’d thought there was even a chance she might consider it, but he knew better. She didn’t belong on Cardassia any more than he belonged on Bajor.  
  
The door hissed open, and Damar heard Nelara enter the room. “Sir,” she said, “I was told you wanted to speak to me.”  
  
“Where have you been?” he asked. When she started to stammer an answer he turned his chair away from the window and shook his head. “It’s not important. I have a task for you. You may need to contact the Federation Relief Center to do it.” He set a padd on the desk and pushed it across the glass.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Kren is gone,” Damar continued. He tried to make it sound as though the news was nothing important, and barely worth his concern. “I’ll need someone to replace him. Quickly. Starfleet Security should still have copies of the other applicants’ files. I doubt Kren kept them.” As arrogant as Kren was, he had probably deleted them under the assumption that there would never be a need to look for a replacement. “Can you do that?”  
  
“Of course,” Nelara said confidently. She seemed oddly comfortable with the change in Damar's cabinet, or perhaps it was the news that Kren would no longer impose his will on everyone in the immediate vicinity—and even some beyond that. “I’ll get started right away.”  
  
“Good. And… thank you,” Damar added. “For all that you’ve done. I owe a great deal to your hard work.”  
  
Nelara froze with her hand hovering over the padd, and her eyes flickered between her outstretched arm and Damar, but she never looked directly at him. It was almost as if she didn’t know how to accept what he had said. “Thank you…” she mumbled under her breath, before snatching the padd from the desk and turning quickly toward the door.  
  
Damar watched her go, and only allowed himself a mildly amused smirk once the door had closed behind her. He hoped she might one day learn that she didn’t have to remain in the background, out of sight, the way so many of Cardassia’s unwanted had been forced to live. It would take time, of course. Everything was going to take time.  
  
He had so much to do, and so many counting on his success. Sisko talked about the task ahead as if it were a road; a destination on the horizon that he could reach if he only walked long enough without stumbling. Damar knew better. It wasn’t a path, it was a climb. A vertical ascent up a sheer cliff, and what lay at the bottom was too terrible to imagine, so he had no choice but to keep going. It was as daunting a task as his rebellion had been, and no less vital. He counted himself lucky to have had strong allies at his side both times.  
  
He turned his chair around again, back toward the window and the city. The flickering lights were disappearing one by one as those dwelling among the ruins turned in for the night. He would follow them soon, and then tomorrow they would all start again. Rebuilding. Recreating their civilization one piece at a time.  
  
Tomorrow he would wake up knowing that he’d made the right choice.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
It was late when the _Ya’Vang’s_ communications officer received a signal that appeared and disappeared from his screen in the blink of an eye. It was so short that at first he wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined it. No more than a quick blip on the subspace receiver, easily missed if one wasn’t paying attention. He double checked the source in the logs and spun his chair away from the comm station. “Captain, I believe we just received a distress signal from the _Lhovol._ ”  
  
Captain B’gor turned and eyed the officer critically. “You _believe?_ ” he growled.  
  
“Sir, it could have been a malfunction. Perhaps they did not mean to send—”  
  
“You fool! What sort of malfunction sends out a distress signal? What is the source?”  
  
The officer twisted in his seat to check his station panel. “Bearing 174-mark-14,” he said. “They’re .76 light years inside Cardassian space.”  
  
“ _Cardassian space,_ ” B’gor spat. “Have you forgotten who it was that won the war? Send a message to the _Monang_ , inform them that our rendezvous in the Nivoch system will be delayed. Helmsman, bring us about and set course.” He spared the communications officer one final sneer before turning back to the front of the bridge. “Warp 8.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the second story in this series! Hopefully you enjoyed it, and you don't hate me for how it ended. Please don't look for the next installment of the series until later this summer. I have a lot of commitments coming up (conventions, vacations, work) and I won't be able to focus on fanfiction as much as I have been. But don't worry, it will be written. I've technically already started, and I'll probably work on it here and there when I have time.
> 
> As with the last story, I want to thank my friends for all their help, and the hours they've spent listening to me go on and on about my jerkass alien OTP.


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